


The Steve Rogers Guide To Dealing With It

by WhiteCeilings



Series: The Steve Rogers Guide (And Associated Works) [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alien Planet, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, Artist Steve Rogers, Body Modification, Bondage, Collars, Companionship, Consent Issues, Cultural Differences, Dark, Dehumanization, Dom Bucky Barnes, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fashion is relevant, Gags, Home Farm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kidnapping, Language Barrier, M/M, Manhandling, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Non-Sexual Bondage, Other, Ownership, POV Steve Rogers, Physical Abuse, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Punishment, Rope Bondage, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Sex Work, Sex Worker Peter Parker, Size Difference, Slavery, Steve Rogers Feels, Sub Steve Rogers, Tattoos, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, poor Steve has to do farm chores, tiny!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2019-09-14 12:45:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 43
Words: 179,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16913121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteCeilings/pseuds/WhiteCeilings
Summary: Steve Rogers, at only 5'4", is kidnapped and brought to a completely different world as a slave. He is bought by a mysterious soldier, who's face is covered by a mask and arm is made completely of metal. Steve has to learn how to deal with this new world he's been thrust into and his new lack of autonomy.Includes historically based fashion, sexual tension, terrifying geese, conspiracies, humor, angst, misunderstandings, and all of the fun and horrific things that come with this sort of slavery. This is the slave!fic that is focused more on storyline than porn.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This story does deal with mature themes and there will be repeated mentions of violence, both sexual and otherwise. There will be warnings at the beginning of a chapter if it contains specific/other triggers, but this is the official blanket warning.

 The man must be at least seven feet tall, and if he decided to step on Steve and crush him like a bug, he probably could with only minimal effort. It makes Steve bitter around the edges, but he’s unsurprised. Ever since the raid, everyone he’s seen has been professional basketball player tall, and pro football player big. This one has shoulders like cantaloupes, with golden armor curved around them, along with an honest-to-God cape. It’s not even the weirdest piece of fashion Steve has seen on this planet— heck, it’s not even the weirdest piece of fashion Steve has seen  _ today.  _ He keeps on thinking he’s seen it all, and then something happens or someone new walks by, and he realizes he’s barely scratched the surface. 

 He doesn’t look very impressive himself. At only about 5’4”, Steve was small for someone on Earth— Midgard, everyone here calls it— but here he is so small he has to look up to see everyone’s faces, and he’s standing on a crate that gives him an extra foot in height. He’s wearing a glorified loincloth, like what Mowgli wore in the Jungle Book live action movie he and Natasha had watched about a week before he was captured. It wasn’t a very good movie, and now Steve can’t help but he spiteful over it. If he’d known he would be kidnapped by a bunch of slave-traders and brought to a whole different world, he would’ve at least watched a  _ good  _ movie. 

 The man in front of him (Cantaloupe Shoulders), has been frowning at him for the past few minutes, eyes going back and forth between Steve’s body and his own piece of unfolding parchment. Steve doesn’t know how accurate it is, but he imagines the man is looking at a shopping list, or a budget, judging from how he keeps on frowning and picking at his beard in worry.  _ Do I have enough for a new slave? No, Marcy would kill me, I just got one last month. But come on, look at this one! You can see the bottom of his rib cage! He’s so small and pathetic, imagine bringing him to parties! He’d be the official coat check, and as soon as a single person gave them their coats he’d crumble under the weight; what entertainment! Hmm, maybe if we didn’t get milk this week, there’d be enough..? _

__ Eventually, the man gave up and walked away, sending the plaque around Steve’s neck another reproachful look. It was made of some sort of plywood, and hung around his neck by a piece of scratchy rope, like he was a piece of used furniture for sale.  _ Item Overstocked! 50% off today only!  _

 In reality, Steve didn’t know what the plaque said, due to it being written in the weird glyphic language everything else on this planet was written in. The people spoke mostly in that language, but he’d heard a few speaking English too, mostly around slaves. The people who’d brought him here spoke the language to each other, but English when giving the slaves commands. Steve could figure out why pretty quickly. It was like in that book  _ The Handmaid’s Tale _ , where the women weren’t allowed to learn to read or write, as a way to keep them dependent and without information. 

 Also, Steve wasn’t sure if he could learn their language even if he was allowed to try. 

 The sun bore down on him. He’d been standing for long enough that he was worried he might faint again, like he had a few days ago. He was pretty sure he’d been on the planet for almost a week, but so far he hadn’t been bought. The Slavemongers hadn’t been especially cruel yet, but Steve had a feeling that wouldn’t last for much longer if he continued trying to make himself look unapproachable and undesirable. They’d told him as much when they whipped his feet the day before. Again, it wasn’t exceptionally cruel or horrible, but the punishment lasted longer now that he was forced to stand on his bruised feet in the sun all day. 

 Steve had stopped scowling for another reason that just fear of his masters and discomfort from the conditions. He was  _ bored,  _ and while there was still fear from his situation, it was the anticipation that was beginning to become more of a problem. Steve could not spend another day wondering what would happen next: who would buy him, what they’d want him for, what they’d  _ do  _ to him. He only knew about Midgardian slavery, but this was clearly not Midgard. Despite the shackles and the parading, this version of slavery was not reminiscent of the African slave trade, which was more than just a little relief. In university, Steve had taken a semester class on early North American development, and the conditions African slaves had been in where horrific. No, this did not feel like that— it felt more like slavery in Egypt, if not better. Slaves from Midgard were to be used as workers, and judging from the people who’d considered buying Steve so far, he could hope it was for help in homes. If he was bought for manual labor, his owners would be thoroughly disappointed in just how long he  _ wouldn’t  _ last. 

 Finally giving in, Steve lowered his head, staring at the crate underneath his feet. He was tired. He was ready for something to happen, anything. 

 He was brought out of his daze a while later when someone touched his plaque. Steve looked up, forgetting all about being submissive to stare at the person before him. He was tall, but tall by Midgardian standards, not the standards of wherever they were. He had straight brown hair that brushed against his leather clad shoulders, and he held himself stiff and upright like a solider. What little skin Steve could see was pale, like the man was ignorant to the sun boring down on them. Steve would examine his face to try and infer an age, but he  _ couldn’t:  _ the man’s face was mostly concealed by opaque black protective goggles and a black mask of sorts that covered all the way from the bridge of his nose to the underside of his chin. It gave him a permanent look of disapproval and malice, and Steve was caught in between really not wanting to be bought by him, and really wanting to just get off this damn crate. 

 The man’s hand brushed against Steve’s bare chest, and Steve almost jumped out of his skin. The man’s hand was  _ metal,  _ pure, unquestionable metal, though it moved with almost the fluidity of a human hand. It was just that hand too; his right one was flesh. He was wearing fingerless leather gloves too, which Steve might have made a mockery of, except this man would probably just shoot him in the head with the  _ giant gun holstered over his back.  _

 The man looked him up and down, and then took his jaw in his metal hand and turned his head from side to side, inspecting him. He looked at the plaque again, considering for a few deathly still moments, before turning and signaling the Slave Master over. He gave him a few large, rose-gold coins, and then Steve was being unchained. He was frozen, unable to move or fight or do anything really, as his hands were brought in front of him and locked together again, and his collar was adjusted on his neck. A chain was attached to the collar and then the cuffs, and just like that, Steve was being pulled off of the crate. 

 The man marched ahead of him, the end of the leash in his metal hand. Steve was forced to follow behind him, in too much shock to do anything. He’d just been bought, and now he was walking on the sunbaked stone ground, trying to catch glimpses of the people and world around him. The path was so crowded with people that he was constantly brushed against, exotic fabrics or the cold sting of metal sending his mind into sensory overload. He could see large structures above the heads of the people around him, but they weren’t large like skyscrapers, but large like art installations. 

 The Soldier pulled in some of the leashes slack, forcing Steve to stop gaping so much and hurry his pace. His view then become partially blocked by the soldiers huge form, and he spent the rest of the walk alternating between panting and memorizing every little detail about the huge rifle across the man’s back.

 They passed through an area that Steve believed to be a neighborhood. It was reminiscent of Brooklyn, but… notably nicer. Brooklyn didn’t have carefully trimmed trees and manicured patches of lawn. 

 The Soldier stopped at the end of the street. There was a road made of hard packed soil perpendicular to them, but beyond it there was just farmland. 

 The Soldier stared straight ahead, waiting silently. Steve stood still, following his example though he didn’t know what they were waiting for. His feet ached. 

 Others were waiting with them, just staring down the road like something might happen. 

 Only a minute or so passed before a truck came. It thundered down the road, but didn’t kick up any dirt in its wake. When it stopped in front of them, Steve could see the back of it was fitted with railings, and filled with people— standing room only. He was so busy staring that the slack in his leash ran out and he was choked for a moment before he hurried to catch up to the Soldier, who despite ignoring Steve the whole walk, helped him into the truck bed, climbing in behind him. Everyone piled in, like a subway car during the morning rush, and Steve was pressed close to the Soldier’s chest. One of the Soldier's hands looped into the back of Steve’s collar, holding him still with his forehead against the smooth leather. 

 Steve was made more aware of his partial nudity as more people piled in. Fabric pressed against his bare back, but when he tried to turn and see what it was, the Soldier’s grip on his collar kept him still. 

 It was some sort of bus, Steve decided as they started moving. It stopped every so often to pick people up and drop them off, and after a few stops the Soldier was climbing out, pulling Steve behind him. 

 The dirt road was a shock to his bare feet, but it was solid and smooth, so no pebbles dug into his feet. He was lead up a flat driveway to a little house, made out of a smooth white material. It was apparently locked, but opened when the Soldier pressed his flesh thumb against it. 

 Inside, it looked like the type of home a rich art collector might have on Earth. The walls were as smooth and white as they were on the outside, the floor was dark 

polished wood, and the furniture was minimalistic but futuristic. 

 The Soldier undid Steve’s cuffs and collar easily, tossing them in a trash can as he walked. He pushed Steve toward the back of the house, where there were a few closed doors and a wall made entirely out of glass, showing a small bedroom beyond it. A door in the glass wall opened to the Soldier’s touch, and he pushed Steve in simply, closing the door behind Steve and leaving.

 Steve turned and tried the doorknob. It didn’t open; he was locked. He was locked, in a fishbowl of a bedroom, in his new home. Apparently. He was pretty sure. He felt exhausted, the culture shock of this new world hitting him in the middle of the forehead and making his head hurt. 

 Almost without thinking, Steve crawled into the bed. At least he was no longer on his feet; at least he was no longer in the sun. At least his new master didn’t seem particularly cruel or violent, if you ignored the massive gun. 

 Steve laid his head on the pillow and realized that he could see through almost the entire house from his fishbowl-room. The Soldier was in the kitchen, moving as smoothly and purposefully as ever, his motions practically robotic. Steve watched him for a few more minutes until his exhaustion eventually got the best of him, and he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter done! Please comment and let me know what you think. I am open to any constructive critism and would love any suggestions you have. This fic is super open-ended, and while I have a plan for future chapters, if there’s anything you want to happen there’s a high probability I can make it happen. Along with that, please let me know what characters and themes you like— are you more into Steve having no autonomy, or Bucky being easy with him? Are you here for the size difference, or the bondage, or are you here for the storyline and drama? Let me know :)


	2. The Farm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Light TW for food issues: Bucky is worried that Steve doesn’t eat enough and accuses him of doing it on purpose. He then makes it clear that he intends to control Steve's diet.

 When Steve woke up, he realized that he was no longer alone.

 The Soldier was there, standing at the end of his bed and laying out various things on the comforter. The mask and goggles had been removed, showing his face for the first time. It was exactly as Steve would expect from him, stern and sharp and serious, and more focused than Steve had been in his entire life.

 Steve sat up, and was immediately reminded of his partial nudity. Really, he should be used to it by now, but there was still something uncomfortable about wearing only a loincloth, especially in the presence of someone fully clothed.

 The Soldier didn’t look at Steve when he snapped his fingers, directing him to move to the end of the bed. Steve considered, briefly, ignoring him, but he was still tired and hungry. Now was not a good time for a punishment.

 He crawled across the bed, kneeling and looking at the man, who was still messing with the stuff.

 “Name,” the man grunted, low and quiet.

 Steve blinked. Somehow, he hadn’t expecting the man to be able to speak English— or at all. “Steve. And, um. What’s your name?”

 “To others, I am Barnes, but you will call me master. Look forwards.”

 Steve followed the instruction automatically, then cursed himself. He should fight more, but right now, there was no good reason to fight. If he managed to leave the house, then there were still miles of open dirt road he’d have to walk on his bare feet, and then he’d be in the city, where the only people dressed like him were slaves, standing close to their masters. He would be picked out as a runaway instantly and returned to Barnes.

 Barnes lifted something up to him, and when Steve moved to see it, a hand was on his chin, pushing him to face forwards again. A new collar was wrapped around his neck and locked in the back. Steve held back a sigh; he’d dared to hope, last night, that when Barnes threw away the old binds it’d meant he was opposed to using them. Apparently, he just preferred his own stuff.

 Barnes looked over him again, like he had at the slave market. He ran his fingers down Steve’s chest, and Steve was struck with the realization that whatever he wanted to do to Steve, he _could._ No one was here to stop him, and even if they were, they probably wouldn’t do anything. Steve no longer had rights. He had been reduced to property: a body to dress and use as this man desired, and a mind to power the body and to follow commands, but nothing more.

 Barnes had stopped at the bottom of his rib cage, pressing his fingers against the bones. Steve knew his rib cage was a weird shape, with its ends flaring out and protruding so, but Barnes’ frowned like it was somehow undesirable. “How long were you with your previous masters?” he asked, though it came out more like a command.

 Steve swallowed. He was not a fan of this, being touched like he had no say in it. “A little over a week.”

 The Soldier hummed. He pinched him, making Steve suck a breath in and hold it. “So you did this to yourself.”

 “I didn’t do anything,” Steve snapped, “this is just how my body works.”

 Barnes shook his head. “You’ll be fed better, here. And if I notice you not eating when you’re told, you will be punished.”

 A shiver went down Steve’s spine, and he looked away, scowling. Before he could react, his loincloth was being yanked down, exposing him, and he shouted out “Hey!”

 The Soldier grabbed his hands easily in one of his, examining Steve’s nakedness bluntly. He reached out, and pushed Steve’s penis out of the way, looking him over with the same analytical gaze. “I should’ve checked before,” the Soldier muttered, “but it appears you’re clean. Keep it that way.”

 He said it like Steve might have the random urge to go and collect STD’s like trading cards. Steve didn’t know what exactly he meant by that— would Steve have the opportunity to have sex, and with other people?— but he just nodded in response, his entire face bright red.

 The Soldier let go of his penis and stood, like nothing had happened. “Clean yourself in the bathroom, and then go to the kitchen and eat the food I laid out for you. You will report to me when you are done— bring the plate.”

 He pushed Steve toward the bathroom, giving him a light pat on the ass as he went, causing Steve to stiffen up more. But when it became clear that’s all that was expected of him, Steve kept walking.

 In the bathroom, he could examine the metal collar. It was black, which was honestly a huge surprise, since _everything_ the Soldier wore was black, and it had a few different loops attached around it, for leashes, Steve supposed. At least there weren’t any tags.

 Steve took the longest shower he dared, paying special attention to his filthy feet. When he exited, he found clothes on the bed, waiting for him. Barnes hadn’t told him to get dressed, but there was no fucking way Steve was about to just stroll through the house butt-ass naked.

 The plate Barnes had prepared for him was too big, but Steve was hungry enough that it wasn’t a problem finishing it. The house was small, with the bedrooms to the left, the living area in the middle, and the kitchen to the right, not separated by any walls. Barnes sat on the living room couch reading and pretending not to watch while Steve ate.

 Steve stared at the empty plate. He knew what he was supposed to do next, but this was one case where the unknown was more than just unappealing. Steve could feel his stomach churning. There wasn’t a single part of him that liked this.

 When he looked up, he saw Barnes still watching him. He knew that Steve was dawdling, then, but he hadn’t yet condemned him for it, just watching to see what he’d do. Steve sighed, and forced himself to his aching feet.

 “I finished,” he announced, showing Barnes his clean plate.

 “Good,” Barnes said dismissively. “Go wash it and then come back here.”

 Steve had to bite his tongue to keep from responding with a biting remark. Now was not the time, even if he really wanted to.

 When he came back, Barnes had gone back to reading his book. When Steve tried to sit on the couch next to him, he brought his feet up on the couch and quite literally kicked him off.

 “Slaves don’t sit on the couch,” he warned without looking up.

 “Oh, I’m not allowed to sit now?” Steve snapped, unable to hold it back. “You should’ve told me earlier, because you know, I sat on the toilet. Clearly I should’ve just gone outside and shat in the bushes.”

 Barnes just hummed, turning a page in his book. “Aggressive little thing, aren’t you?”

 Steve glared up at him. “If I can’t sit on the couch, where should I sit?”

 “The floor is good.”

 Steve huffed, leaning back against the couch. He could already tell that this was going to make his butt sore. “Sitting on the floor all day will give me a flat ass.”

“Your ass is already flat,” Barnes replied without pause.

 Steve gaped at him. Barnes, apparently, was doing his very best not to smile.

 He sighed, and closed his book, sitting up. “Alright. I think I’ll pay attention to you now.”

 “Gee, thanks,” Steve snarked. “I sincerely appreciate—”

 “Tone it down,” Barnes warned. “I’m not going to ask you to keep your emotions to yourself. But I won’t allow you to breach protocol with it. When in public, or around other people, you are not to be disrespectful.”

 “Heard,” Steve snapped.

 “If you stay angry,” Barnes threatened, “I will have you go outside and run laps. I don’t intend to repeat myself.”

 Steve looked down. “I understand.”

 “Good. When we are in public, I will expect even more formality from you. Try again.”

 Steve knew what he wanted, but he really didn’t want to say it. Unfortunately, Barnes was patient, and Steve knew that he wouldn’t be able to outlast him. “Yes, master.”

 When he looked back, he saw that the man was doing that thing again, like, he was almost smiling. He was so stern and composed that Steve doubted he ever made much of an expression at all.

 “Good.” He continued on, unbothered by the pause. “In case you haven’t guessed yet from this area, I’m a farmer.”

 “Wait, you are?” Steve looked up at him, actually surprised.

 He raised his eyebrows. “That’s why there’s a field. And a barn. And geese.”

 Steve felt his face go pink; he hadn’t seen any of those. “Okay.”

 “Your daily duties will include taking care of the house and helping me with the farm. On market days, you’ll come with me and help me run my booth.”

 “Your booth,” Steve repeated. “Like a Farmer’s Market?”

 Barnes made a face. “I don’t know what that is.”

 “It’s literally exactly what it sounds like.”

 “In that case, yes. If your training goes well, you’ll get more responsibilities and privileges.”

 Steve was not a fan of the word ‘training’. “And if it doesn’t?”

 “I don’t think that’ll be the case.” He paused, and then, like he was trying to see how it tasted, said “Stevie.”

 Steve groaned and hid his face in the couch so he wouldn’t have to look at him. He wasn’t sure, but he was pretty sure Barnes was laughing at him.

 After that, Steve was given a pair of thin, but sturdy shoes, and given a tour of the farm. He didn’t have a leash on, and theire wasn’t even a fence around the property, but the invisible limits seemed blatant. The road cut a clear line through the grass, acting as a border that Steve knew all the free-range animals would be expected to follow. And him as well, he supposed.

 Barnes immediately confirmed that, letting Steve know the exact boundaries. As spiteful as it made Steve feel, he appreciated the clarity. That way, he would only be punished if he actively decided to break the rules. Barnes also let him know that when he wasn’t supposed to be doing chores, he was expected to remain inside, but he could ask for permission to go out.

 Then Barnes moved on, showing him the barn. At the moment, the only thing it held was tools, but there were a half dozen empty open stalls that Barnes explained were for the geese to go in when the weather was bad.

 They peeked in one of the stalls where a giant… _creature…_ was sleeping. It must have been at least twice Steve’s size, and if it was standing, Steve imagined it’d be as tall as him. It was (surprise surprise) pitch black.

 “And this is my puppy,” Barnes explained with a ghost of a smile. “Fenris Wolf.”

 The hell dog twitched in its sleep. Steve imagined, if his head was right by its leg, that that twitch be enough to smash his skull open.

 “He’s sleeping,” Barnes said unnecessarily. “We won’t bother him.”

 “If I’m bad,” Steve started, “will you feed me to your dog?”

 Barnes chuckled. He then walked away— without an answer. It wasn’t very reassuring.

 Barnes showed him the fields, which were small enough that it was reasonable to tend to without any heavy machinery, but big enough that it’d be obnoxious to do it by yourself. At the time being, there were only three crops being grown: cucumbers, onions, and peppers. He was doing some light harvesting now, but when August came around they would do the full harvest.

 Next they went to the pond, where most of the geese were. It was just a small pond, and Steve wondered if it’d be nice to swim in. He asked Barnes.

 He shrugged. “If you’re willing to fight off the geese.”

 “Would you?”

 Barnes shook his head. “How do you think I lost my arm?”

 Steve stared at the geese in horror. He was pretty sure that Barnes was lying, but his fiat delivery made it hard to tell. When he stared closer at the geese, he noted how sharp their bills seemed, and how big they actually were. It was hard to tell at a distance, but the geese must have been tall enough to be at least waist height on him.

 He’d been so distracted by the geese that he hadn’t noticed Barnes walking away. He was quickly reminded when a finger was looped in his collar and he was dragged away, scrambling to catch up and not get choked. Barnes let go once he was moving fast enough, but Steve still felt himself hurrying to stay behind him, tethered there by an invisible leash.

 “I already did today’s farmwork while you slept,” Barnes explained. “I let you sleep in, but starting tomorrow you’ll be getting up with the sun. Chores are light this time of year, but I weed by hand, so you’ll want to do about one row a day. No eggs this time of year, but the geese are fed supplemental feed, which you’ll need to refill. Fenris is fed twice a day, morning and night.” He scratched his hair, thinking. “Those are the daily chores. There’s other work that will vary day to day. And…” he sighed, “social events.”

 “You don’t like social events,” Steve stated.

 He shrugs a shoulder. “There’s a reason I became a farmer.”

 

———————  


 They go back inside, and Barnes has him kneel in the middle of the floor while he bustles around. It’s embarrassing, and hurts Steve’s knees, so when Barnes goes into his room to gather some things, Steve stands, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. When Barnes comes back, he stops for a moment to stare at Steve, and then continues on, setting some clothing over the couch. “Do you want attention?” He asks, adjusting something. “Is that it?”

 “I don’t like kneeling,” Steve states, anger on his tongue. He doesn’t; not for Barnes, and not for anyone else. It’s a derogatory position, and Steve intrinsically has the same value as Barnes does. He’s not going to sit up on his knees in the middle of living room just because Barnes told him too, like he’s waiting there just in case Barnes decides to fuck his mouth. Steve has limits, and won’t let them be pushed like that.

 Barnes is quiet when he should hum. When he responds, his voice is lower again, the lightheartedness gone. “Does it hurt your knees? Would padding help?”

 “Not kneeling would help.”

 It’s a test, Steve decides. It feels like a stupid thing, his stubbornness getting in the way again, but he decides that instead, it’s purpose is to test the Soldier. He’ll get punished sometime; better figure out just how now, instead of dreading it forever.

 “As a slave,” Barnes explained carefully, “you will be expected to kneel. Sometimes for extended amounts of time. I can make it easier for you, with padding, but I don’t give without reason. Steven, on your knees.”

 He gave Steve the count of three before turning and looking at him. Steve stayed where he was, though he knew that his heart was beginning to beat louder. It was a test, but not for Barnes; it was a test for Steve, and he’d failed.

 Barnes walked up to him, and Steve was reminded just how much bigger he was. Barnes towered over him, but he wasn’t just tall, he was strong, muscular, trained and dangerous.

 “When I give you an order, I expect it to be followed,” Barnes explained. He took Steve’s tiny wrists in his hands, and finally Steve’s instincts kicked in and he tried to struggle, but the grip was too tight. His flesh hand was just as strong as the metal one.

 Before Steve knew it, Barnes was cuffing his hands together and to the wall, forcing him to strain upwards on his tip toes. Barnes then pantsed him, methodically, pulling them off so Steve’s legs were entirely bare.

 “I should leave you here,” he said darkly. “After all those days up for sale, I imagine you’ve gotten quite good at standing in this position.”

 The answer was a no; all of the days standing had just made his legs sore, and all the time with his arms behind his back made his shoulders ache. Steve wasn’t going to tell him that, though. So he set his jaw, settling in for the long haul.

 “But that’s not my point,” Barnes said, low, but clear. “My point is to teach you to obey, and to become comfortable kneeling. So.” He took the cuffs off of where they’d been attached to the wall, and then lowered them, pushing Steve down until he was kneeling, his hands directly above his head. “If you had been obedient, I would have allowed you to stay in your room while I went to the market. Instead you’ll wait for me here. Do you have any questions?”

 “How long will you be?” Steve snapped.

 “How long will it take for you to learn your lesson?” He replied snidely. "Let’s say around two hours."

 Barnes went back to the couch and started dressing, pulling on the leather jacket with all of the straps, and the mask and goggles. As a final touch, he slung his gun over his back.

 He stopped in front of Steve and titled his head sideways. Steve didn’t say anything, just scowled, so Barnes left. Leaving Steve behind. Chained to the wall.

 That was when Steve decided, officially, that he would escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is super open ended, so please comment your requests! Even if it’s just saying what you do and don’t like, let me hear them. I’m still deciding how much of this story I want to be serious and how much I want to be funny/sexual so reader interaction is absolutely vital. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. The City Pt.1

 By the time Barnes came back, Steve's entire body hurt. 

 Barnes came in carrying two large cloth tote bags. He set them down and unpacked, eventually bringing one bag to his room and leaving the other out. When he came back, he stopped in front of Steve and stroked a hand through his hair. “Have you learned your lesson?”

 Steve leveled a look at him, but forced himself to look at the floor and nod, submissive. Barnes was a patient man, and he wasn’t at all harmed by Steve having to stay in that position. He would only let Steve out when he allowed himself to be let out. 

 He petted Steve a little more, then unlocked the cuffs from the wall, letting Steve lower his hands and stand. He didn’t uncuff him, though, and when Steve looked to his pants he shook his head. “Staying like this for awhile longer will help you remember your place.” 

 Steve’s place was back on his couch at home, watching shitting movies with Natasha. His place was the coffee shop on 3rd, in the corner booth, watching Clint order and make a fool out of himself flirting with the barista. His place was not on the floor in this weird house on a weird planet with a weird man. 

 Barnes took him by his collar and lead him into the kitchen, moving him to sit at the counter on one of the stools. “This morning you sat at the table, which was fine because I didn’t tell you different. But this is where you will eat.” He attached a leash from his collar to the counter for emphasis. 

 Barnes gave him a plate with a too-big sandwich on it, and left to change out of his public attire. Steve stared glumly at the sandwich. 

 When Barnes came back, he still hadn’t touched it. “Is something wrong?” He asked, half genuine and half threatening. 

 “It’s too much,” Steve told the sandwich glumly. “I can’t eat it all.”

 “Could you eat half?”

 Steve shrugged. 

 “Eat half and we’ll save the rest for a snack. When you’re done, I have something for you.” 

 ‘Something for you’. Steve wanted to get excited at that, but it could mean a lot of different things. It could mean that he’d gotten him a present he’d like, like a book. It could mean he’d gotten him a present he wouldn’t like, like a new collar. It could also mean something much less tasteful— that they were going to have sex, and Barnes just happened to think that his dick was God’s gift to the world. The thought didn’t motivate Steve to eat any faster. 

 Still, he finished half of the sandwich quickly enough. Barnes continued to ignore him, and it was onto five minutes later when Steve realized why. “Oh. Um. I finished.” 

 “You finished what?”

 “I finished my sandwich.”

 “You finished your sandwich, what?”

 Steve sighed audibly. “I finished my sandwich, master.” 

 “Good,” He said, like he always did. Short. Dismissive. Like he was trying to give positive reinforcement but had never really learned how. “Let me see the plate?”

 Steve had to turn half around on the stool, almost choking himself on the leash, for him to see it. When he did, he gave him a little nod and came over, putting the plate in the fridge and unclipping Steve’s collar. “Have you ever kept a diary?” 

 What? “No,” Steve said, maybe a little sharper than necessary.

 Barnes brought a small object over to him; a notebook, one of the smaller, cutesy kinds that Steve would buy at the store without ever intending to use it. “This is a journal. You can do whatever you want with it, but I was thinking you could write about your day. I’m sure being here is very different from being on Midgard; I bet you have a lot of observations.”

 Steve wasn’t sure if he wanted to thank him or punch him. “Will you read what I write?”

 “If you respect my rules, I’ll respect yours.”

 Ah. There’s the catch; if Steve isn’t a good little slave, he could have his notebook taken away. Lovely. 

 Steve reached out for it, and Barnes let him have it, along with two new pens. Then he stayed there, waiting. It took Steve a minute to remember, then said “Thank you. Master.” 

 Barnes touched him on his bare knee, briefly, the touch equivalent of a smile, then turned and went to the couch, going back to his book. 

 Steve wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. He hadn’t been told to move, but he also hadn’t been not told to move. Barnes had said that he needed permission to go outside, but he’d never said that he needed permission to move about inside.

 Steve considered his fishbowl of a room for a moment, but quickly decided against it. Even if he’d be seen just as easily as he would anywhere else in the small house, going back there would be like choosing to go back to his prison cell when he didn’t want to. It was accepting his fate without a fight, and if there was anything Steve was incapable of doing, it was giving in without a fight. 

 So, instead, Steve sat himself down in the corner of the room where he could see Barnes’ couch, but Barnes couldn’t see him. 

 The notebook was pretty plain upon first inspection, but when Steve looked through it he found that there were little paper pockets in the front and back, and that the paper was slightly altered from what he was used to. Parchment, he reminded himself. Made of river plants instead of trees. He hadn’t seen many trees in the area, just a few heavily manicured ones in the city and one big one in the backyard. 

 Barnes said he could use the notebook as a journal. Steve spited him by using it as a sketchbook instead, drawing an image of Natasha standing tall and proud, wearing a mismatch of the strange clothes he’d seen woman here wearing: a long skirt with a slit in the side, a short sleeved blouse with a corseted waist. Instead of sleeves she wore golden cuffs down her arms, some connected with pieces of the same fabric as her shirt, mimicking sleeves. Her hair was done up, like many of the women’s was in the heat, and she had a fabric tote in her her hand.

 It was easy to get lost in the familiar sketching. He only had pens, when normally he preferred to use charcoal, but he made do. 

 “Steven.” 

 The harsh voice cut through his daze, making Steve’s eyes snap up in attention. “What?”

 “Come here.”

 Steve considered leaving the notebook behind, but it was too nice an object to leave on the ground, so he carried it and his two precious pens with him to comfort Barnes. “Yes?”

 “Sit over there. By the tv stand.” 

 Steve went and sat where he pointed, not sure why. He stared at Barnes for further instruction, but he just went back to his book. 

 Eventually, Steve rolled his eyes and went back to his drawing too. He was pretty much done, which was good; it had lost its splendor. How could Steve muse over his Natasha, who always found the strangest clothes to wear, enjoying this world’s fashions when this world was doing him such an injustice? How could he even imagine Natasha here, when here was where he sat on the ground, his hands cuffed loosely together and his notebook pressed against his naked legs?

 Barnes seemed to notice his annoyance, and called him over. This time, Steve left the gift on the floor, and instead of pointing him somewhere else, Barnes sat up and ordered Steve in between his legs. His legs were up on the couch, and Barnes helped position him so he was simply sitting in between his legs, leaning against the larger man’s chest and allowing himself to be wrapped around by his mismatched arms. “You really don’t like the floor, huh?” Barnes asked gently.

 It wasn’t about the floor; it was about everything, everything that had happened including the damn floor. But Steve’s arms still ached from his last punishment, so he just nodded, accepting Barnes’ excuse.

 “We should… talk,” the Soldier stated, like he really didn’t like that idea. Steve recalled his distaste towards social events, and attributed it to that. “Did you have a job on Midgard?”

 Steve surprised him with his answer: he had three. He did art, which was his main project, but it didn’t pay the bills on his own, so he also worked as a part-time magazine editor and night custodian. Both allowed some flexibility, which was necessary for how often he got sick. 

 Steve didn’t offer up all of the information right away, but after enough prodding Barnes got it out of him. When Steve tilted his head back, he could see Barnes frowning at the sickness comment. “I need to get you vaccinated,” he said, looking at the floor in focus. “And… tagged? Do you have any tattoos?”

 Steve twisted his cuffed hands together, wrapping his fingers in the chain. He was definitely not a fan of that particular train of thought. “No? I’m afraid of needles.”

 “You’ll get over that pretty quickly,” Barnes said, like that was just a casual thing that you could say. Steve tensed, and Barnes immediately went to rubbing out his muscles, like a little massage would be enough to fix his far too casual comment about needles. “Have you ever thought about getting tattoos?” 

 Steve was an artist, of course he had. But again, needles. Steve shook his head. 

 “Hmm. When we go out tomorrow, you should keep an eye out, see if you like any.”

 “I don’t want to get a tattoo.”

 Barnes shrugged. “Look, I have one. Hardly even hurt.” He pulled the sleeve of his flesh arm up, revealing two tattooed armbands: one with evergreens, and one with mountains. They were high quality, and maybe made Steve want to get tattoos just a little, but again— needles. 

 Barnes went pretty easy on him for the rest of the night. The handcuffs came off just a little later, but he wasn’t allowed to put his pants back on because “What’s the point anyway?”

 After dinner, Barnes took him outside and showed him how to feed Fenris, who made an appearance at the sound of the rustling bag. He stayed back at Barnes’ command, but he still stared hungrily at Steve, like he was the real meal. Steve was already freaked out by the huge dog, but the fact that his legs were bare besides his underwear definitely made it worse. 

 They turned in before it was even ten, because apparently they were farmers now. First, Barnes helped Steve put away some of the new clothes he’d boughten, and announced “You’ve done a good job today. Tomorrow, you can decide what to wear for yourself.” 

 Great. Steve was pretty sure almost every article of clothing Barnes had boughten him was black, or at least dark. Yay. He had the freedom to choose the specific brand of emo he wanted to be; whoop-de-do. 

——————————

 Steve was woken up the next day at the ass crack of dawn. He went through dressing and then chores in a daze, with Barnes still leading him through the different tasks and then leaving him to do the work. Steve tried to keep up a decent pace, but it was hard with his sleepiness and the road being right there. Every so often a truck would drive down it, usually pretty empty but sometimes with people, and Steve wondered if he could get one to stop for him. Probably not, but the temptation to try anyways was strong. 

 Barnes must have noticed this, because after breakfast and shower, he was given more restrictive bindings than he’d expected. Barnes was already dressed in his leather jacket contraption when he helped Steve into decorative black metal arm bands. He was given different shoes made out of a thin, black fabric without much support or friction, which would likely hinder his ability to run. The shoes went all the way up under his knees, and were tied in place with a ribbon that wrapped around them. They were what would happen if you mixed soft leather socks with ballerina slippers. 

 To complete the look, Barnes got out a black rope and set to looping it around the arm cuffs behind Steve’s back, keeping enough slack that his shoulder blades weren’t forced to pull together uncomfortably. He then attached a short leash to his collar, and looked him up and down uncertainly. 

 Steve looked at the floor, not wanting to move his eyes. If he just made it through the day…

 Metal fingers tapped under his chin and Steve looked up, instantly recoiling. Barnes was holding up a bit gag, watching Steve with his head tilted at an angle. “Will you be obedient today?”

 Steve’s nose was still wrinkled at the sight of the gag. “I’ll be obedient enough that that won’t be necessary,” he said, trying for at least a little honesty. That seemed to be enough for Barnes, who put the device back away. 

 He lead him through the house, asking the type of questions he expected answers to. Steve did his best to answer, even though it still felt too early to be doing any sort of thinking. “I’m supposed to address you as master,” he recalled in response to one. 

 “Good. If you aren’t addressed directly, you should stay silent, but if there is something you think I should know, you can tell me. It’s most important to stay silent when I’m talking to someone else.” 

 Steve nodded, and then watched as the Soldier put on the mask and goggles again, and yes, the gun. Steve had no idea why he needed to be armed to the teeth when in public, but there were some things you didn’t ask someone carrying a rifle. 

 The truck they took to the city carried no passengers besides them, so after Steve gave him the puppy dog eyes, Barnes allowed him to sit. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing to do with his arms bound as they were, but Steve made it work. Barnes stood over him, bracketing him with his legs to keep him from sliding, and after a brief mental fight Steve gave into it, leaning his head against one of Barnes’ thighs. Somehow, Barnes seemed even bigger when in his public clothes. 

 Steve was pretty sure it had to do with the rifle, though at this point, the mask and goggles might’ve been scarier. A gun was intimidating, but a gun carried by someone with a hidden face was worse. There was no way of knowing what their expression was under the mask. 

 When they were dropped off and started walking again, Steve was able to people watch a bit better. Barnes allowed him to walk at his side, and the lack of a crowd made spotting individual features. Steve noted little things, like how everyone really was so much taller than him, and even the woman who looked short in comparison to their neighbors loomed. No one was dressed messily, and everyone had at least some piece of metal adorning their clothes. Some wore capes that were attached to their other clothes with metal clasps or epaulettes. Others wore metal armbands, or ornate beaded necklaces, though Steve noticed no one but slaves wore metal around their necks. There were few slaves in the plaza, but enough that Steve was able to recognize common features. They were usually dressed in a similar manner to their masters, but always in more revealing clothes, and with shoes that could dampen their ability to run, like heels or his own boot-slippers. All of the slaves wore collars, but they differed, and only a few also wore leashes. Some talked freely with their masters; some were gagged. 

 “Are you getting good information for your journal?” Barnes asked. The mask made his voice quiet and malicious, but Steve had a feeling it wasn’t just the mask’s doing. Barnes was clearly much more comfortable in his own home. “You’re looking around like you’ve never seen people before.” 

 “I don’t know if I have,” Steve admitted. He’d seen people, yes, but never people like this. Everyone was larger than life, bursting with self expression. It was as if they were all wearing coded costumes, and if you stared long enough you could decode the message. That woman with the intricate beading was wealthy, and the way she stood with perfect, prideful posture showed that she had earned it on her own. That man, with the brilliant collars and semi-ridiculous ruffled sleeves, was friendly. This was confirmed by the big smile on his face when he saw Barnes and immediately called across the courtyard, “Bucky!”

 Steve’s leash was pulled taut as Barnes made a sharp turn, leading them away from the man as fast as socially acceptable. Steve hurried to stay in step with him, fearing that one misstep over the uneven stone ground would end up with him breaking his nose. 

 They turned another corner and almost ran straight into the man, who laughed goodnaturedly and put his hands on Barnes’ shoulder, as if to steady him. Funny, as if Barnes was the one who needed steadying, as solid as a statue while Steve’s life practically flashed before his eyes. “Bucky!” The man said again, equally enthused, “I missed you!”

 “Sam,” Barnes said, on the complete opposite side of the excitement spectrum. “I’ve been enjoying my peace without you.” 

 Sam laughed good naturedly and placed a smacker of a kiss on Barnes’ mask, right where it was covering his mouth. Steve wanted to warn Sam that Barnes was carrying, but he’d been given very specific instructions to keep his yapper shut. 

 Sam’s gaze flickered over to Steve, like he’s just noticed him— as if, Steve had been practically glued to Barnes’ side when Sam had hunted them down— and he said, overdramatically, “Why Bucky, who is this?”

 And there was that name again: Bucky. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky. Was that Barnes’ actual name, or maybe just a stupid nickname Sam gave him? Steve wouldn’t doubt the latter. 

 “This is Steve,” Bucky said without a single trace of emotion. “I got him to help with the farm.” 

 “Steve! It’s so great to meet you!” Sam stared at Steve, waiting for a response. 

 Steve looked at Barnes helplessly. He nodded simply: Steve could talk. 

 “Hi,” Steve said shyly. “I’d shake your hand, but…”

 “Shake my hand?” Sam said, sounding confused. His eyes lit up with realization. “Oh! That’s a Midgardian thing, right?” He lifted his hand, shaking it side to side before laughing. “Wow, you people are so strange! We don’t do that here, we prefer to make out in greeting.” 

 He leaned forwards quickly, as if planning to do just that, but was stopped by metal hand on his chest. “Sam. Don’t you dare. Stevie, we kiss in greeting. On the cheek. Sam is a dirty liar and also he cheats at cards.” 

 Sam lit up, laughing again. Steve was beginning to understand why Bucky was emo. “I don’t cheat! But yeah, I was just teasing you about that. We just do a little cheek kiss like this.” He leaned down and kissed Steve on the cheek too quickly for him to reciprocate, licking his cheek slightly as he pulled away. Steve grimaced, but he couldn’t wipe his cheek with his arms bound behind him. 

 “Thanks,” Steve said, unsure of what else was expected of him. 

 “This must be a really big change for you,” Sam said, going from licking his cheek to genuine just like that. “Do you have any questions, anything I could clarify for you?”

 Steve couldn’t tell much about Bucky’s stance on that due to the mask, but he had a feeling Bucky wasn’t happy with Sam. Still, Steve gave it a try. “Um. Why do you call him Bucky?” 

 That made Sam laugh again, this time tilting his head back and touching a hand to his chest. “Because it’s his name! What does he have you calling him?”

 “Supreme Lord of The Universe,” Bucky said, and oh good, apparently Steve wasn’t about to get shot. “Or just Your Majesty.” 

 “Right, right, why am I surprised. Well, Steve, to answer your question in more detail, his name is Bucky Barnes, the most lovable and terrifying guy on this part of Heidrun.”

 “Most people call me Barnes,” the Soldier explained, looking straight at Steve with his goggle-covered eyes. “Sam’s just a dick.”

 “Sam’s just his best friend,” Sam corrected. 

 “Not true. I like Valkyrie better.” 

 Sam gasped. “How dare you… lie to yourself like that? Honestly, Steve, he’s in deep denial. Look, I’ve got to go, I’m going to be late, but it was good catching up with you!”

 “You could have not caught up with us and been on time,” Bucky suggested dryly. 

 Sam just flipped him some sort of weird salute and sauntered off, strutting like a peacock. 

 Steve and Bucky both watched him go. 

 “What’d you think?” Bucky asked grimly. 

 Steve scowled. “He licked my cheek and I can still feel it.” 

 Bucky huffed under his mask— maybe a laugh?— and wiped Steve’s cheek for him. “Good?” 

 “Good.” 

 Bucky shook his head and started leading them back to the main plaza. “Just so you know, you are not to refer to me as Bucky.”

 Steve decided that from then on, he would only call him Bucky. Mentally, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what I've got from peoples reactions so far is that your more interested in plot than porn, which I have absolutely no problems with. This fic is just a fun little side project I wanted to do, which is interesting because it leaves things very open. As always, please comment if you have any ideas/requests. 
> 
> Also, hey, Sam is in this chapter and hes colorful and obnoxious and wonderful. What a delight to write. What a disaster to be friends with. 
> 
> More similar themes / humor in the next chapter.


	4. The City Pt. 2

 Bucky, apparently, had a whole list of errands to do. They started at a hair salon, which had stool-like seats with low backs instead of normal barbershop chairs. Steve was sat in one with the leash slack against his chest as Bucky talked to the man in the other language. Steve listened intently, but couldn’t decipher a single word.

 When they were done, Bucky look at Steve, the intensity being drawn up to 100 from the creepy looking goggles. “You good?”

 Steve was praying to God that Bucky didn’t just tell the hairstylist to shave him bald, but still he replied like a good little slave, “Yes Master.”

 There were times to rebel. Sitting in a chair with someone about to have scissors very close to your head was not one of them.

 Steve was completely silent the entire time the hairdresser worked. It wasn’t hard, as the hairdresser didn’t attempt to make any conversation either; they probably didn’t with any of the slaves. Steve did his best to be obedient and docile. Again, scissors by his head; it was no time to fight.

 He did panic just a little when the man pulled out a knife, the type an old-fashioned barber would use for a close shave. He only used it on the back of Steve’s neck, though, and somehow didn’t accidentally sever Steve’s spinal cord, which he appreciated. It was the little things that counted.

 When he was done, Steve was allowed to look in the mirror, and another one was held up so he could see the back. His hair had been cropped short on the sides, but kept long on the top. Really, it wasn’t that different from his normal hairstyle, just a little sharper, bringing out his cheekbones and jawline. In the back, instead of letting his hair slowly disapate down his neck, the hair there had been trimmed into a sharp point, clean and precise. Steve honestly wasn’t even mad at it.

 He thanked the hairdresser, who looked a little surprised, and stood idly by Bucky as he paid. The coins weren’t rose gold this time, but a dull silver. They had holes in the center, making it possible to put a string through them, and Steve was pretty sure the rose ones had it too.

 Their next stop was some sort of clinic. Bucky must have called ahead or _something,_ because there was no wait. They were immediately brought into the back, where Bucky helped Steve onto a table and then helped him out of his pants. He actually only pulled them down to Steve’s knees, since his boots were laced up around his calves.

 Steve stared down at his pasty thighs dejectedly. The only underwear Bucky had provided him with was tight black briefs, except Steve wasn’t quite sure if they were actually meant for men. They _supported_ him well enough to be men’s, but the dainty little black bow at the top said [otherwise](https://goo.gl/images/gkmFcm).

 The doctor didn’t so much as give him a second look, however. Which was good, because Steve couldn’t help staring at her. Her lab coat was open, revealing her perfectly pressed high waisted slacks and dark purple fitting shirt, much more fashionable than Midgardian doctors were. It was weird as fuck.

 She asked Bucky a few questions in the language, speaking so fast is all sounded the same to Steve. Steve was made temporarily aware that Bucky was literally standing in the middle of an extremely clean, disinfected hospital room with a _gun_ strapped to back, when the doctor glanced at him and asked in English “Will he scream?”

 Bucky looked to him, like he was silently repeating her question: _Will you?_

But Steve didn’t know what they were talking about. All he knew was that he was sitting in a hospital room on another planet with some goth soldier and a fashion forward doctor, and, oh right, his pants were around his knees revealing his most-likely-to-be female underwear. What the fuck?

 “Needles,” Bucky said, bringing Steve right back to reality. “Are you going to scream when she sticks you with needles.”

  _Bitch, I might._ “Like acupuncture?”

 “Like vaccines,” the woman clarified.

 “Um.” Fuck. Please. No. Fuck. Um. Okay. Steve was fine. “No?”

 Bucky looked back to her and shrugged. “He might. I don’t mind.”

 She considered this for a moment too, then shrugged. “Alright. That’s good with me.”

While she turned around to get her supplies, Bucky made it his job to wrap around Steve like a leather-clad octopus. Steve’s face was pressed against his chest, and one of his arms wrapped around Steve’s neck, and the other wrapped around his back, trapping his arms even more. It was like a hug, except Steve knew that Bucky was mostly doing it to keep him from thrashing.

 “What’d you think of Sam?” Bucky asked, his voice muffled.

 Steve whined against his chest. “Do you want to know the correct answer or the honest one?”

 “Honest please.”

 “He is really— ow!” Steve’s entire body jolted when the needle went into his thigh, but Bucky kept a tight hold on him. “Fucking dicktwigs, that hurt!”

 “He’s really what,” Bucky prompted, as if nothing had happened.

 “Um. Uh. He’s really weird. He’s like, your polar opposit— fuck!”

 “I know,” Bucky agreed blandly, once again ignore the _needle that was just pushed into Steve’s flesh._ “But hey. They say opposites attract.”

 “He kissed you on the mouth,” Steve said against his chest. “Are you two… I don’t know.” Together, he meant, but it felt off.

 “No,” Bucky answered simply, not sounding offended. “I’d probably shoot myself first.”

 “He seems nice.”

 “He is nice. That’s why I’d shoot myself.”

 Steve was about to reply when another needle went in. This one hurt the worst, and Steve found himself clenching and unclenching his bound hands, his eyes filling with tears without his permission. “ _Fuck.”_

“We’re all done,” the doctor announced casually. “Your slave has quite the filthy mouth.”

 “I’d wash it out with soap, but I wouldn’t want to get the soap dirty,” Bucky agreed idly, helping Steve back into his pants. He gave Steve an appraising look, and then wiped under his eyes with his flesh thumb.

 “I don’t like needles,” Steve explained idly.

 “I know.”

 When the doctor left, Bucky helped Steve get down from the table. “You did good. Maybe next time, less swearing, but I didn’t tell you that before so it’s fine.”

 Steve nodded stiffly, his thigh aching. “Yes Master. At least there won’t be anymore needles.”

 He couldn’t tell through the mask, but he was pretty sure Bucky looked guilty.

—————————

 

 Steve froze so fast when he saw their next stop that Bucky almost ended up choking him with the leash. They were in front of a little store that read _Dora Milage: Tattoos and Piericings._

“I don’t want to get a tattoo,” Steve said, even though he knew it was probably definitely very much out of line.

 “This one’s not option,” Bucky explained plainly. “Any others we can talk about later.” He huffed through the mask. “This place is higher protocol. The artists are judgy. Best behavior.”

 With that, he tugged on the leash, and Steve was forced to walk again.

 Inside, the studio was decked out in deep reds and purples, and covered in art and photos. There were curtained off private areas, but from what Steve could tell, they were the only ones there.

 Steve was so distracted by two bald women in the back laughing and kissing that he didn’t notice Bucky had stopped until he ran into him. Oh well; better than choking. Another bald woman was sitting at the front desk, smiling devilishly at Bucky. “Barnes,” she said with some sort of accent he didn’t recognize, “Так мило с вашей стороны, что вы привели меня с кем-то новым для игры.”

 Bucky reponles with something in the same tongue, causing the woman to laugh. She had brilliant white teeth, but her canines were sharper than natural, like a vampire. Another modification, maybe?

 She lead them to one of the rooms, closing the curtains to give them privacy and keep them from having to stare at the two women who had made their way to one of the benches to continue making out on. Steve thought she muttered something about useless lesbians, but he could be wrong.

 Steve kept half-listening, only catching one word out of the normal: Okoye. Her name, maybe?

 He was ignored for a few more minutes as she and Bucky talked, giving him the chance to look Okoye over. She had dark skin and red painted lips, different from most people here’s minimalistic makeup. Her shaven head was decorated in black patterned lineart, the lines traveling down her neck and underneath her red and orange patterned tunic. Her arms were also covered in the patterns, and when a bit of her leg poked through the slit in the tunic, he could see that it was covered too. She must be an absolute masterpiece naked, he thought idly, before realizing and quickly looking away, cheeks heating up.

 They seemed to have come to a decision, because they both went into motion, Okoye going to prepare her supplies and Bucky moving straight for Steve. He undid the ropes at Steve’s back and helped him move his arms, rolling the soreness out of his shoulders. Like at the doctor’s office, Bucky pulled Steve’s shirt over his head without asking or even bringing it up to him first, which Steve tried not to get peeved at.

 “You can have him lay down and restrain him now,” Okoye said simply, like Steve wasn’t even there.

 Steve tensed. None of that sounded fun. Right now, it looked like he was getting a tattoo, whether he wanted it or not, and haircuts and shots and clothes were all very temporary, but a tattoo?

He looked at Bucky desperately, hoping to get the message across without breaking protocol.  Bucky caught it, commanding under his breath “Speak.”

 “What it is?” Steve whispered. “What am I getting and why do I—”

 “It’s an identification mark on your shoulder,” Bucky explained, plainly but patiently. “All slaves have one. No getting around it.”

 That didn’t make it okay, but it did make it a little better. Steve whimpered slightly, but allowed himself to be lowered down. His leash was attached to a metal eyehole, forcing him to stay down, but luckily that seemed to be the only restraint they planned on using.

 Steve whined when he heard the buzz of the needle, tilting his head to the side to see Bucky. Bucky hesitated, then reached back and carefully undid his mask and goggles, setting them down beside him.

 “Aya! Barnes, can you belief I’ve never seen you without your mask?”

 Bucky looked tired. He didn’t respond. Instead, he reached out and took Steve’s hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly.

 Okoye drew out the design, then transferred it onto Steve’s skin. Her hands were cold, and he could imagine her nails, bright red and without fault.

 The actual tattoo didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would, but the pain was there, constant, unavoidable. As time dragged on, the pain just got worse, stinging and aching and burning all over. Eventually, Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand and then his eyes, keeping them shut as the sharp little scrapes continued. Okoye spoke to Bucky for some of the time, but when she did it was only in the other language, so Steve couldn’t use it as a distraction. It made him hate her, just a little.

 He was allowed to see it when it was finally done. The tattoo was of letters in Russian, he thought, small enough to all fit in two lines at the top of his right shoulder blade. The skin around it was red and irritated, but Okoye slapped a bandage on it and announced it a masterpiece.

 She left them alone for Bucky to redo Steve’s restraints. “I was thinking we’d get lunch, but I have a feeling you’re done for the day,” Bucky said gruffly, sliding the mask back on.

 All Steve could do was nod. He was still standing in front of the mirror; it was impossible to look away. He’d thought he looked different a few days ago, with his bruised feet and strange clothes, but now he’d undergone another transformation. He had a tattoo now, a real, live, permanent as hell tattoo. If he ever escaped and went back home, he’d still have the tattoo.

 The hair was different too, and the arm cuffs looked a little surreal as well. Everything about what he was wearing was surreal. Everything about _everything_ now was surreal.

 Steve turned slightly so he could watch as Bucky retied his arms in the mirror. This time however, he didn’t do the complicated criss-crossing, but just looped the rope over and over in between his two wrist cuffs, finishing it off with a dramatic bow. It had the same purpose as the previous bindings, but this version wasn’t as harsh, allowing  his shoulders to be fully relaxed. It may have been for the sake of the tattoo— or, it may have been for Steve’s sake.

 He waited on a table as Bucky paid, feeling just a little bit of horror well up in him when the two women who’d been kissing earlier cane up to him, big smiles on their faces and their steps full of purpose. “You’re new, aren’t you?” One asked, her accent even stronger than Okoye’s.

 Steve tried to catch Bucky’s eye across the room, but Bucky wasn’t looking at him. Did he tell him to be quiet, or did he tell him to only speak when spoken to? _Dora Milage_ was supposed to be high protocol for him— so was he supposed to ignore them? That seemed rude.

 Fuck it. “Um, yeah. I’ve only been here for…” Three days? Four? It’s been longer, hasn’t it? “Less than a week.”

 “I’m so excited!” The other woman exclaimed. “I already know he’ll be bringing you back. Another tattoo? Or maybe piercings?”

 The _other_ woman held up a diagram for Steve to see, showing him every single spot on the ear that could possibly be pierced. “You could get a tragus piercing, or a helix!”

 “No, Barnes needs to get a helix piercing, remember?”

 “They could match!”

 “He could get something besides his ears pierced. Septum?”

 “How about nipples?”

 Steve opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. His _nipples?_ Really?

 “Steve.”

 The voice cut through the room, sending heat pouring down Steve’s spine like lava. He jumped off the table, almost losing his balance, then scurried over to Bucky. Bucky looked over the women considerably, then back to Steve, taking his leash. “Thank you, Okoye.”

 “Yeah, thank you,” Steve added, once again forgetting himself. “It, uh, looks really good.”

 Okoye sent Bucky an amused look, and then they left.

 

———————

 Outside, Steve fully intended to ask Bucky about the look, but Bucky beat him to it. “What were those horrible Doras talking to you about back there?” He said it sarcastically, but it still definitely demanded an answer.

 “Um, piercings,” Steve managed, having to practically run to keep pace with Bucky’s strides.

 “Which ones in specific?”

 Steve could feel himself going pink again. “Nipple piercings.”

 Bucky was quiet for a moment. Steve hated the mask; it made it impossible to tell how Bucky was feeling. For a normal person, the silence would mean anger, but for Bucky it likely just meant he was thinking about something. “I bet we can get you black ones.”

 Steve spluttered. “Absolutely not, I refuse to be an enabler of your black fetish—”

 Bucky flicked him on the ear, reminding him of his place. Steve ducked his head, but couldn’t bring himself to be genuinely sorry. “Oops.”

 “Those damn Doras are always trying to get me to get my helix pierced,” Bucky continued, like nothing had happened. “That’s a small hoop piercing, on the side of the ear. I keep telling them I won’t, but they keep peer pressuring me. It’s a good thing I have you; now they can make you into their project and stop picking on me. Have any ideas for tattoos you like yet?”

 Steve hesitated. “...No. I just got my first one, and it still hurts. I think I’ll have to wait until this one at least heals before trying something more.”

 Bucky shrugged with one shoulder and lead them down another street.

 The ride back to the house was crowded again, and Steve attempted to get off of his feet some by leaning against Bucky as much as possible. He got close to falling asleep like that, standing up with people pressed against his every side, but every time he started drifted the truck would hit a rock and jolt him.

 Bucky seemed plenty amused by the time they were dropped off in front of the house, but Steve really was too tired to deal with him. He stood still and obedient for Bucky to undo the rope binding, and then marched off to his bedroom, climbing in bed and passing out without even taking off his arm cuffs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments! As mentioned previously, this is an interactive story that is partially guided by what you guys want, so lets keep up that connection!
> 
> For this chapter, I have a specific question, which is what your thoughts are on Steve and/or Bucky getting tattoos/piercings. Any ones that youd like in specific? Or do you strongly prefer them going without?


	5. The Crop

Steve woke up in the fishbowl. Bucky was at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper and sipping from a ceramic glass. 

 When Steve tried the door he was relieved to find it unlocked. There were times when he felt like he could handle unnecessary submission, and he was pretty sure he’d met his quota for the day and then some. 

 Bucky ignored him until Steve was right in front of him, and then he looked up from his paper, lips quirking in amusement. “Good nap?”

 “The best,” Steve said dryly, like the nap had personally offended him. “Can you take my arm cuffs off now?”

 His arms were sore again, but he managed to hold them still while Bucky unlatched the metal cuffs. Everywhere they had been there was now pink indents. Steve wrinkled his nose at them. “Cute.”

 “It’s adorable,” Bucky said, except he seemed to be looking directly at Steve and not just at his arms. Steve reached up and found his hair messy and bed-headed, and he groaned, running his fingers through it. “Is there anything you want right now?”

 Steve’s brain tried to blink awake. He still felt dozy, like he hadn’t had his morning coffee. The culture shock, he decided, plus the effort it took to submit. “Um.” There was something rattling around his head, like a screw gone loose. “Could I go outside? And. Could you take the collar off? It feels fine physically, but mentally I kind of feel like I’m being choked and I don’t like it.”

 Bucky looked at him with raised eyebrows, sipping his tea mildly as he considered. For a moment Steve thought he’d overstepped, and Bucky’s question had been completely rhetorical, but to his surprise Bucky said a quiet “Hm,” and then announced “You’ve been good, you can do one of the two. Your choice. But I’m not a fan of letting you outside for the first time unsupervised  _ and  _ without a collar. Which do you want?”

 It probably was a bit too much to ask. Steve sighed. “Just outside then, please.”

 Bucky fixed him a water bottle and grabbed him a blanket, then lead him outside to the big tree. When Steve got closer, he saw that there was a big cord wrapped around the trunk, and he got the sudden urge to just turn around and bolt. He’d wanted free range outside, not to be leashed again. 

 He didn’t argue as Bucky attached the gratuitous leash to his collar, though he did scowl intensely at the ground. Bucky made a sound like a breathy laugh. “You’re not in the best mood, huh Stevie?” 

 Clint used to call him Stevie, when he was pretending to flirt with him. Clint was one of the biggest flirts Steve had ever met, and they’d had a running joke every time they met up in public that they were strangers, and Clint was trying to pick him up. He’d saunter up, slide into the booth across from him and go “What’s a pretty thing like you doing at a place like this?” And Steve made it a game of replying with the worst things he could think of. “Disposing toxic waste,” he said once, and another time, “choosing my next victim.” It was a fun game. 

 Steve wondered about Clint. Natasha had been there that night that the slave traders came, but Steve was pretty sure she’d escaped. Had she gone to Clint, told him what happened? Or maybe she didn’t escape. Maybe she was in the city too, a pleasure slave to one of the huge, 7 foot tall men, someone with much worse intentions that just using her to help out on the farm. That train of thought lead to a much darker, selfish one: why exactly did Bucky want Steve? For farmwork, yes, fine. But did he really want him  _ just  _ for farmwork? Bucky had touched his ass before, but it was more of the type of touch you’d use on a piece of livestock, prodding them to move along. Or  _ was _ it sexual? There was the whole thing with the underwear. Steve wasn’t wearing full on female lingerie, but they definitely were feminine. So that was a sex thing, right? If it wasn’t a sex thing, Bucky would have just gotten him more boxers, right?

 Bucky had already gone inside at that point, so Steve huffed and started pacing. The leash was pretty long, giving him a decent radius of grass and tree to explore, but the afternoon sun was up and anywhere there wasn’t shade was instantly a Bad Spot. Steve paced for a while, then sat on his blanket with his back against the trunk, fiddling with the leash and seeing if he could take it off. He didn’t recall Bucky locking it, but Bucky had also seemed pretty sure that Steve couldn’t get out. 

After a while, Bucky came out with a plate, claiming Steve was trying to make him forget about lunch and that it wasn’t going to work. Steve hadn’t forgotten about lunch, but he also wasn’t hungry enough to bring it up. 

 “We should go to the city for lunch sometime,” Bucky said mildly, handing Steve the other half of the sandwich he hadn’t finished the day before. “There are some good little cafés I like. Do you have any favorite foods?”

 Steve scowled and brought his legs up to his chest, not answering. It was a dangerous game, but Steve was tired and just a little pissed. Bucky could fuck off. 

 He waited, but this time Steve actually had reason to believe he could out-patient Bucky. “Is there a reason you’re not answering me?” Bucky asked, tone laced with threat. 

 Steve didn’t actually want to make trouble, he was just tired of being perfect and compliant. He took the sandwich and bit in, then with his mouth full said “I can’t talk, I’m eating.” 

 Bucky rolled his eyes but he ruffled Steve’s hair, the type of motion he probably did to Fenris all the time. “Alright. I’ll let it pass; you’ve had a long day.”

 “Oh thank you,” Steve grumbled around his sandwich, “oh great and powerful master. Thank you for the forgiveness; tell me, if there anything else I must do in penance for my sins?” 

 “I’m leaving now before you say something you’re going to actually regret,” Bucky stated, “But I’d watch your tongue.”

 “Watch my ass,” Steve bit back. 

 Unfortunately, Bucky didn’t punch him like Steve was sort of hoping he would. He just shook his head and walked away. 

 Steve groaned, leaning back against the tree. He was restless and tired and antsy all at the same time. Back home, this would have been the perfect time to ‘notice’ an injustice and go shove himself in the middle of it. He didn’t  _ technically  _ pick fights, but there was a reason he got in three times as many fights as Natasha and Clint combined. 

 Bucky was being difficult and not rising to Steve’s bait, so Steve tried to think who else on this planet might be willing to take a chunk out of him. He was answered but a loud barking noise, the type of thing an angry bear would make. Steve looked up to see Fenris bounding towards him, full speed. 

 There was no time to think, only climb. Steve had never been a big tree climber, but you find new abilities when threatened with being viciously mauled by a charging boar. Steve scrambled up the tree so quickly he scraped his hands, hopping from branch to branch until he physically couldn’t go higher, and then looked down. The entire tree shook when Fenris jumped against it, barking as loud as a lion. A lion was a decent comparison, actually, though it was possible that Fenris was bigger, and if Steve was correct then most lions didn’t crawl their way up from hell with a taste for human blood. 

 Fenris jumped, but luckily even with his massive back haunches he wasn’t strong enough to reach Steve. His claws did get scarily close to catching on Steve’s leash, and Steve’s death all but flashed before his eyes. If the dog ended up getting his claws stuck on the leash, which could happen just by accident, then Steve’s death would be very very quick. No fucking Soldier with a rifle could stop Steve from snapping his neck from the fall and then being mauled by the hell-dog. 

 Steve grabbed the leash in his hands and pulled it as taut as possible. The dog jumped again, barking loud enough to shake the tree. The entire structure was terrified of him; the leaves trembled under his touch, and they weren’t even in danger of being ripped limb from limb. 

 Fenris jumped again, and for a brief, terrifying moment his claws caught on the leash.  _ This is it!  _ Steve thought as he pulled on the leash as hard as he could, preparing for death. Then Fenris jumped again, untangling his claws. 

 He got bored quickly after that, and decided to eat the remnants of Steve’s sandwich instead of eating Steve. Steve was fine with that; Fenris could have all of his lunches if he fucking wanted. 

 Eventually the dog got bored and left him alone, but the leaf cover was too thick for Steve to see where he went. For all he knew, the fucking dog was waiting for him five feet to the left, and as soon as Steve came down he’d be attacked. It was a good incentive to get really friendly with the tree he’d claimed as his new, permanent home. 

 Steve's arms were really beginning to get sore now. His hands were lightly scraped, and his wrists were still raw from the cuffs. The spot on his back where the tattoo was still felt sore as well; shouldn't it be better by now?

 An hour must have passed; maybe more. If Fenris was ever going to leave, then he would have already. Still, Steve was especially careful climbing down, listening for any noises that might indicate future mauling. Instead, when he got to the bottom he found Bucky lounging in a folding chair a few feet away, a book in his lap and a smug smile on his face. “Have a nice climb?”

 “It was great,” Steve replied, still looking around for the dog. He was nowhere in sight. 

 “Plate?”

 “What? Oh.” Steve picked up his plate. He’d really only had a few bites of the sandwich before Fenris finished it, but Steve didn’t really mind, and, well, the plate  _ was  _ clean. He lifted it for Bucky’s inspection. 

 “Good. Are you ready to go back inside?”

_ Yep, yes, definitely, let’s get out of here as quickly as possible before the demon creature comes back.  _

 Inside, Bucky turned on the tv and sat them down with Steve in his lap. “Is your collar still bothering you?” 

 Steve had much bigger problems, but the collar  _ was  _ annoying. “Yeah.”

 So Bucky took it off for him, massaging his neck and shoulders where it’d touched. They watched the tv like that, with Bucky probably thinking he was doing some amazing, incredible act worthy of a million thanks, and Steve trying his diddly-darndest to stay relaxed and placid and let him do whatever he wanted. 

  
  
  


\-------------------

  
  


 Steve let his guard down as the afternoon progressed into night, letting himself be cuddled and coddled. Bucky showed him how to make dinner, and they cooked and then ate together, a parody of domesticity. 

 When it was time to feed Fenris, Bucky announced that he would, and Steve could stay in the house. Steve figured it was a test to see if he would do anything drastic, but he was warm and pliant enough that any attempts at running away seemed undesirable. 

 When Bucky came back, Steve peaked his head up from the couch to ask him something, but stopped when he saw his expression. For all that Bucky tried to be straightforward and clear, his expressions betrayed very little, but Steve had gotten good at telling what his micro-expressions meant. And right now-- assuming he was correct-- Bucky was murderous. 

 “On the table,” he ordered, “Hands and knees.” 

 Steve got up, walking on weak legs and glancing at the door helplessly. He had the sudden urge to bolt, but if he did that he'd probably not even make it down the driveway before he was shot. 

 Steve climbed onto the table with shaking limbs, on his hands and knees like he'd been ordered. Bucky came around silently, attaching cuffs to his hands and feet. The cuffs latched underneath the table, preventing Steve from escaping. 

 Steve wasn’t sure what to do. His breathing was becoming more erratic, his thoughts melting into a bubbling pool of panic. He was shaking, he realized. 

 “You are being punished,” Bucky said simply, coming around to his front. “Do you know why?”

 Words failed him. Steve had almost managed to form a coherent thought when he saw what was in Bucky’s hands— a fucking  _ riding crop _ — and his panic skyrocketed. He struggled against the bonds, yanking and pulling at them, but it didn’t do a thing except hurt him. Still, he kept going, only stopping when a hand shoved him down by the nape of his neck, pinning his head to the table. 

 “I asked you a question. Answer it,” Bucky snapped. 

 Steve shook his head, unable to do anything else. Bucky sighed, pulling out a small rectangle of glass— a phone, maybe?— and showing the screen to Steve. The image made his stomach churn, and for good reason: the image was of vomit. When he looked closer, he could make out specific colors and shapes, the remnants of a partially digested sandwich. 

 “You lied to me,” Bucky continued, putting the phone away and tapping the crop against the table. “You deliberately disobeyed me, then lied about it, and you used my dog for this plan of yours, getting him  _ sick. _ For what you did, I’m going to lash your feet—”

Steve didn’t hear the number because he was too busy struggling. He thrashed against the restraints, yanking his head away from Bucky’s grip and practically seizuring in his binds. Bucky tried to grab him, but Steve was jerking too sporadically. The world narrowed down to just the restraints, trapping him and refusing to let him free, and to the riding crop, about to hit his already bruised feet. 

 “Steve, stop it!” 

 He didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. There was nothing but panic. Nothing but the feeling of being  _ trapped  _ and in  _ trouble  _ and  _ stuck,  _ his feet tingling and aching even though he hadn’t even touched him yet, his wrists and ankles feeling like they were breaking against the cuffs, and he was bleeding, bleeding dry…

 Then the restraints were gone, and Steve flailed so badly he fell off the table. Bucky just barely managed to keep him from hitting his head. Steve shouted again at his touch, the touch that had been okay, maybe even good an hour earlier, but now would only mean pain. 

 Bucky got him to his feet, dragging him kicking and screaming to the fishbowl, where he threw Steve on the bed. Steve screamed even more at that, because there was only one thing that Bucky could really want from him that included a bed, but then he caught Bucky leaving the room, the door locking behind him. 

 Steve flailed a little more on the bed, still full of excess energy even as the immediate threat was gone. He rolled over, falling on the floor with one of the pillows in his arms, and curled up there, against the wall where Bucky wouldn’t be able to see them. 

 It wasn’t about the sandwich or the vomit or the riding crop. It was about the  _ punishment,  _ and the fact that Steve was now in a position where if Bucky wanted to punish him, he could. Steve had absolutely no power over what happened to his own body. If Bucky wanted something that Steve didn’t want to give, be it a punishment, or sex, then he would just tie Steve down and take it. There was no government agency in the world that could save him, because they weren’t on his world anymore and here, things were different. Here, people wore masks and chains to leave the house, and doctors cared about fashion and tattoo artists press ink into your skin without you ever saying whether or not you want it. Hairstylists bring knives to the nape of your neck and  _ there is no escape,  _ there is just blind faith, not faith in the people around you but faith that maybe God’s plan doesn’t include you bleeding out on the barbershop floor. But  _ there is no control,  _ and faith becomes harder when it is completely blind faith. 

 Eventually, Steve’s panic subsided into anger, and then grief. He was all alone. He could cry all he wanted, but that wouldn’t change anything. 

 Through the grief, a sick, twisted plan began forming. Steve would become impossible. He would refuse everything offered to him, until Bucky would have to force feed him to get anything down. He wouldn’t move, he wouldn’t get up, he wouldn’t eat, he would just stay here in his anger and misery. That would show Bucky. And then… and then what? Bucky would get rid of him? He’d sell him to someone else? Or would he just kill him? Leave him outside for the dog?

 Steve’s breathing had returned to baseline by the time Bucky knocked on the glass wall. “Steven?”

_ What?  _ Steve wanted to yell, like a child angry at their parents.  _ What do you want? Go away, just leave me alone! I hate you! _

__ Instead, Steve crawling onto his knees and poked his head out from behind the bed. He couldn’t help glare at Bucky, but the redness in his eyes probably made it more pathetic. 

 “I’m glad you feel better,” Bucky said, looking genuinely relieved. Steve could spit. He wasn’t screaming anymore, sure, but that didn’t mean anything was better. “There are clearly some other problems that need to be dealt with besides the sandwich,” Bucky continued. “But I think you need more time. We’ll deal with it in the morning. You still need to be punished, but we’ll talk about it and maybe come up with an alternative to the crop, okay?”

 So Bucky wasn’t giving him a reprieve— not that Steve had expected him too. Still, at least now he had time to collect himself before whatever happened, happened. 

 Steve managed to sleep for a while, on the floor hidden from view by the bed. He woke up in the middle of the night, and laid there for a while, unable to go back to sleep. 

 His door was locked; he knew that. But Steve wasn’t falling back asleep, and he was much calmer than he’d been before. It was time. 

 He went to the corner of the glass, not even trying to open the door. He pounded his fist lightly against it, making a noise echo through the house. “Buc- Barnes?”  _ Master,  _ he should’ve said, but the word wouldn’t come out. 

 A few moments passed, and then the door to Bucky’s room opened, and Bucky stepped out, looking tired and still bedraggled. Steve wanted to apologize and tell Bucky to go back to bed, but then Steve would be stuck waiting for five more hours, and Bucky was already up now anyways. Going back would be stupid. 

 So instead, with his own hair still fluffy and messy and his own body aching, Steve asked “Can we talk?” 

 If he looked as pitiful as he felt, there was no way Bucky would deny him. 

 Sure enough, Bucky opened the door and let Steve out. He held up a finger in an unmistakable  _ stay  _ gesture— probably the same he used for the hell-dog— and disappeared into the living room for a moment. When he returned, it was with Steve’s collar. Steve tilted his head, making it easy for him to put it back on. He didn’t want it, but obedience was necessary for whatever came next. 

 Bucky was still tired, but that seemed to be good enough for him. He wrapped an arm around Steve in a way that was almost companionable, and instead of leading him to the table again, lead him to the couch. 

 They sat down on opposite sides— no forced physical contact. It was possible that Bucky hadn’t been lying when he said he wanted to talk. 

 Steve observed Bucky, trying to put him in some sort of box so he could understand him. It was like when Sherlock Holmes saw a person and words started floating around them, proclaiming them a smoker, a mother, a cheat, except with Bucky, Steve was drawing a blank. The only things that floated around his sleep-mussed hair were question marks. 

 “I’m sorry for panicking,” Steve explained. “I. Shouldn’t have.”

 Should’a could’a would’a. He should’ve been better. Could’ve not freaked. Would’ve tried harder. 

 He should have gotten better security in his house. He could’ve told Natasha when he noticed something was amiss. He would’ve tried harder in getting them both to safety. 

 “I told you,” Bucky said, interrupted his moping, “that I would never punish you for your emotions. Keeping emotions in is dangerous; they build up and lead to something like  _ that  _ happening. But it did seem like a bit of an overreaction to what your punishment actually was. Care to explain?”

 Steve chewed on his lip. The problem was, there  _ was  _ no good explanation. He’d just been consumed in the panic, in the helplessness of it all. 

 “I was afraid of you hitting me feet,” he tried, “because they’re still sore. They’ve been hurting to walk on for the past few days and I was scared you would make them worse.”

 Bucky frowned. “Give me your foot?”

 Steve lifted his foot, and Bucky took it in his hands, examining the soles. He pushed his thumb against one of the bruises and Steve had to look away, his breath catching. 

 “I didn’t realize they were this bad,” Bucky admitted, letting go and allowing Steve to draw his foot back. “The Traders gave those to you? What’d they use?”

 “A cane.”

 Bucky shook his head. “Would you prefer me not using a cane in the future?”

_ Yes, clearly, very much so, duh.  _ “Yes Master.”

 Bucky tapped a few metal fingers against his chin. “If we tried the crop again, would you panic?”

_ Maybe. Probably.  _ “I could try not to.”

 Bucky seemed to come to a decision. He stood, and gestured for Steve to do the same. “Up. It is your duty to eat your food, and all of your food, when I tell you too. If I catch you lying again, or feeding my dog your food again, you will be punished. Understand?”

 “Yes, Master.” Steve’s feet already hurt.

 “Good. I think you’ve learned your lesson, but I plan to use the riding crop in the future, and for that, I can’t have you unreasonable scared of it. So, hands and knees on the table. No restraints this time. I’m going to hit your feet three times— with the riding crop, not a cane— and if the pain is too much, you’ll tell me to stop and I will. Understood?”

 Ow. Ow. Ow. Three swings was an infinity of swings, when your feet are already bruised. “Yes Master.”

 Bucky went to his room to grab something, and Steve got into position. It was much better this way, not being bound, like it really was his choice. It had been an order, but it felt like it was an order Steve chose to follow, not one he was forced into. 

 When Bucky came back, he checked Steve’s face. “Ready?”

 “Yes Master.”

_ Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow… _

_  SNAP!  _ “One.”

 It hurt, but it wasn’t the worst pain Steve had ever endured. It actually didn’t even make the top 20. 

_ SNAP!  _ “Two.” 

 That one hit especially hard over one of the bruises, and Steve had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. Only one more. 

_ SNAP!  _ “Three, you’re done. Sit up for me.”

 Steve was shaking, he realized, but it wasn’t bad. It was just such a tense situation— but it was okay, because it was over, and it didn’t even hurt that much. It was much better than the cane, even if this version bit more. 

 Bucky kneeled in front of his feet and to Steve’s surprise, massaged lotion into them. When he was done he pulled a pair of warm, fuzzy socks on him, tying them up with a ribbon. The socks were red, which was a shock. Bucky owned clothes in other colors besides black?

 After that, Bucky hugged Steve, and asked if he wanted to go back to bed. Steve shrugged. He was suddenly tired again, but he was also enjoying the close— affectionate— contact. As if reading his mind, Bucky picked him up and brought him over to the couch, laying them down so he was on his back and Steve was laying on his chest, his big mismatched arms wrapping around Steve. Steve hid his face in Bucky’s oversized shirt, and Bucky chucked and messed with Steve’s hair. “You good?”

 Steve mumbled something random and affirmative into his shirt. Bucky was like a radiator, warm and cozy and ideal for snuggling. Steve would deny liking it if asked, but in the dim light in the dead of night, he could snuggle a little closer and enjoy it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're getting better, at least. Remember, its a weird situation for both of them, but they're learning and figuring out how each other works. 
> 
> Also, I've officially written over 20k words this weekend! None of which was stuff I actually had to write, oops. 
> 
> Comments appreciated :)


	6. The Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You may want to look at the chapter title and think about what that'll mean >.<
> 
> There is better communication here, but remember, they're both in a weird situation. It is going to be rough getting off their feet and doing some of the necessary stuff like punishments when they're still learning how they work together, but they are getting better, and after this chapter we'll be punishment free for a little while.

A week passed. 

 Steve started getting used to the routine. He woke early and did his chores. Weeding took a long time, but Bucky had him do one long row a day, instead of having to spend an entire morning weeding everything. By the end of it, Steve’s hands were rough and his knees were dirty— he hadn’t thought this was what Bucky meant by “you’ll be on your knees a lot”— but he decided he didn’t mind farming all that much. 

 He avoided the hell-dog like it was diseased. Usually Fenris was still asleep when Steve did his morning chores, but sometimes when they did other farm work he’d be up and prowling. One day he happily bounded over to Bucky with a large racoon-looking animals clutched in his jaws. Bucky praised him to high heaven. 

 “There are predators that could hurt the geese,” Bucky explained when Steve gave him A Look. “Fenris is in charge of eliminating any threats.”

 “You think he’d snap my neck if I attacked a goose?”

 Bucky titled his head to the side. “I don’t know. Do you want to try?”

 No, Steve very much absolutely definitely did  _ not  _ want to try. 

 They did some repairs around the farm, usually trying to finish them before the afternoon heat came about. Bucky told Steve about how he was considering getting a dairy cow, and Steve expressed his distaste towards unpasteurized milk. 

 Bucky shrugged. “I’d still make you drink it,” he teased. 

 “You’re sick.”

 The crops were getting close to harvest, and checking for any ripe vegetables was added to Steve’s list of morning chores. 

 With the passing of another week, Steve was giving the responsibility of cleaning the house’s wood floors every morning and the privilege of going outside without being leashed. He still had to ask, but it was freedom nonetheless. 

 He wandered the farm, climbing in the barn and inspecting the individual stalls. He went to the pond one day but was chased away by a goose that was at  _ least  _ three feet tall, if not more. It was the second time the farm animals had caused Steve to fear for his life since moving in. 

 Steve got good at figuring out which places he could climb, and how fast. Fenris and the geese seemed to make a pact against him, and whenever he inadvertently stumbled within a few yards of either they’d start up all kinds of noise and chase him, wings flapping and teeth gnashing. Steve escaped them by climbing up the tree, or the barn, or on one special occasion, the house. It had been hard explaining to Bucky why Steve was perched on his roof, but Bucky just found it funny, so it was fine. 

 They went into town one day and picked out more clothes for Steve. They weren’t comfort clothes, as Bucky called them, but ‘social clothes’— as in, clothes meant for wearing in public. As far as Steve could tell, Bucky only had one set of social clothes, which was his mask and leather getup, but apparently Steve needed a half dozen. Bucky also got him a semi-elaborate costume for some function that was coming up that Bucky definitely-had-to-go-to-and-couldn’t-get-out-of-unless-he-literally-died. Which meant Steve had to come too. 

 It wasn’t altogether unpleasant. Having things to do was nice, and seeing the vegetables grow gave Steve a sense of accomplishment, even if he’d only weeded them. Bucky was generally reasonable, and even if he was harsh sometimes or made Steve wear stupid clothes into town, it was fine. At least Steve knew what he was getting with Bucky; there were no horrific surprises. Steve could relax. 

 Bucky did continue with his training, though. He made Steve kneel in the middle of the floor again one day, no binds this time, and Steve did it, however annoyed it made him. Sometimes when Bucky watched tv at night he had Steve kneel by his feet, stroking his hair soothingly. It was equal parts relaxing and infuriating, but that was largely in part to the fact that everything Bucky watched was in the other language. At this point, Steve was pretty sure it was Russian, and really wanted to learn it already. He hated people talking over his head like he wasn’t even there. 

 Steve did get punished once, though. He’d been in the yard and had just finished weeding when his eyes caught on the dirt road, and he just couldn’t look away. Suddenly, the farm seemed like the smallest place Steve had ever been in. He was trapped in a glass box that slowly became smaller and smaller, and he would be forced to spend the rest of his life here. It would just be him, Bucky, and the hell animals for the rest of Steve’s life. 

 Without knowing what he was doing, he bolted. Running had never been a favorite of his, but now, it was freeing. His lungs aching and his throat burned, but the air was cold and the breeze whipped at him and he was free, free, free. At least for a little while. 

 He made it maybe a half mile, maybe a mile, before he glanced back and saw a black shape barreling towards him. It was a monster; it was a demon. Fenris Wolf caught up with him in less than a minute, and Steve was forced to choose a tree and climb for dear life. This time, Fenris didn’t jump, just barked, circling the tree like a vulture— or like a patrol officer. 

 Bucky took his sweet time walking up the road. When he got to the base of the tree, Steve saw that he was already dressed in his social clothes. The dark goggles stared up at him accusingly. 

 It had been a good run. Steve had lived a full life; he could stand to die now. He climbed down the tree without being asked, and allowed himself to be herded back home, Bucky’s fingers digging into his collar like a mother cat carrying her baby by the nape of its neck. Back home, Steve was sat on the couch and told to explain himself. 

 “I panicked,” Steve blurted out. “I didn’t plan it or anything. I just. Freaked. And ran. It wasn’t even about getting away from you, I just couldn’t stand being here anymore. I’m sorry. Master.” 

 Bucky shook his head and locked Steve in his room. “I’m going to town. You’ll stay here while I’m gone. The rest of your punishment will come later.”

 “Can you at least tell me what it is?” Steve asked, even though he knew he wasn’t in the position to be pleading. 

 He shook his head. “I haven’t decided yet. I’ll be back in time for lunch.”

 He was. He was always true to his word. He was genuinely trying to train Steve, not just manipulate him into being obedient in the short term. They were playing the long game, and it made Steve equal parts thankful and sick to his stomach. 

 When Bucky came back he let Steve out, giving him lunch to eat at the counter. Steve ate it all, showing Bucky the plate without being reminded, and then bringing both of their plates to the sink to wash. 

 “I think your biggest problem is panicking,” Bucky stated causally. 

 Steve forced himself to keep washing. There were a few pans left over from the night before that he could clean too. “Yeah?”

 “Mm-hmm. So what I’m wondering is, what do I need to do to keep you from panicking?”

 It was a loaded question. Steve didn’t  _ know.  _ He was panicking because of the situation he was stuck in, and it wasn’t like Bucky would get him out of it. “I don’t know.”

 “How about this. Next time you feel yourself start to panic, you come to me, and we’ll decide what needs to happen in that specific situation, okay? If you’re panicking because of something I’m doing, then I’ll at least pause it to check in with you and find out what the problem is.”

 It was reasonable, annoyingly so. It was also demeaning; Steve wasn’t a kid Bucky had to deal with, or a pet. He was a person. He just didn’t get to be treated like one. 

 “You’re angry,” Bucky noted. “Why.” 

 “It’s dehumanizing,” Steve said, because he was already going to get punished anyways; might as well be honest. 

 “You don’t like that, do you?”

 Steve didn’t have time to respond before Bucky was snapping his fingers, ordering him back to the center of the living room. Steve went, even though he already knew what was happening next. 

 “Shoes off. Shirt off. Kneel.” 

 Steve obeyed, not rushing but not dawdling either. He was left in just his pants; he didn’t own any socks, because the shoes he wore didn’t require them. He kneeled, and waited for further instruction. 

 The Soldier circled him, his fingers running through Steve’s hair and pulling slightly. “Sometimes I forget how small you are,” he murmured lowly. “You are cute, though. I picked well.”

 Steve forced himself to keep his mouth closed, his harsh, biting thoughts to himself. He knew what Bucky was doing, and two could play at that game. He looked up at Bucky innocently, batting his eyelashes. “You did, master?”

 “Shh. I didn’t say you could speak.”

 Steve had to actually bit his tongue then. He felt his muscles tense and un-tense, fighting to keep himself relaxed. Whatever punishment he’d be getting, it would be bad. Right now, his one job was to try and make it even just a little better. 

 Bucky kept running his hands over Steve’s head, moving down to feel the undercarriage of his skull, poking and prodding at his jawbone. He manhandled Steve’s head, looking at him from side to side like he was inspecting for wear and tear. “Pretty good condition. Average.” 

_ Fuck you.  _

__ Bucky pried his mouth open, instead of just asking him to open it. He looked around inside, like he might find something. “Hmm.” 

 He finally knelt too, though Bucky kneeling was much bigger that Steve kneeling. He brushed Steve’s hands back, and Steve put them behind him, clasping them obediently. Bucky traced his way down his ribs, prodding a little more at the flared bottom part, and then going lower. 

 “I changed my mind,” he announced. “Stand up.” 

 Steve did, and as soon as he did Bucky hooked his fingers under his pants and pulled them down. Steve almost flinched, but managed to keep himself together. He just needed to be obedient. If he was obedient, it would stop. 

 Bucky then made a show of feeling Steve’s legs, his ankles, his feet. Steve unclasped his hands to try and keep his balance and Bucky tutted at him. His hands were locked behind him so Bucky could continue without disturbances. 

 “Do you know what I think your problem is? You don’t understand the freedom you have. You have your chores, and your obedience, but you also have the whole farm to wander in. You have your own room, and your personal objects. Your journal. You have the opportunity for more too, you just have to ask. I’m not above giving you gifts. But I’m not going to spoil you. I want a well-trained slave, not a brat.” 

 He stopped his monologue to tie a blindfold around Steve’s eyes, and Steve immediately had to focus all of his attention on his breathing. He was wearing only his underwear, with his hands cuffed behind him and his vision taken away. Bucky’s hands were on his bare skin. 

 His breathing calmed, and Bucky continued. 

 “So for the rest of the day, I’m going to take away that freedom. That way, when you earn it back, it will mean something more to you.” 

 Bucky wrapped another collar around his neck, above the other one. Together, they forced him to hold his neck straight and shoulders down, fixing his posture. The second collar was different, though; there was some sort of metal points that dug into his neck. Bucky grabbed onto his arms, like he knew he might freak out, and said “It’s a shock collar. For this punishment, if you mess up I won’t extend it, but I will give you a small, controlled shock. It feels like this.”

 Without any further warning, Bucky shocked him. Steve shouted, jolting away, but Bucky’s grip on him was tight, keeping him trapped. And even if he’d let go, there was no jumping away from the collar. 

 “But that will only be if you’re purposefully bad. I’ll warn you first. Any questions?”

 Steve’s mouth was open, gaping, still in shock from the electricity. He couldn’t think; there was too much stimulation, Bucky’s hand on him and the floor underneath him and the supple fabric of the blindfold and the cool metal of the cuffs and the digging sensation of the collar. 

 “Good,” Bucky said, like he’d done something worth noting. “If you need to pause for some reason, shake your head, alright?” Steve was about to ask why he couldn’t just say ‘pause’ when Bucky said “Open.”

 Steve opened his mouth on instinct, and felt something being put into it. Not all the way— it was a strange shape, cylindrical and long. The pressure loosened momentarily, and then something was strapped to the back of his head and the gag dug it. The only comfortable way to have it was to bite down, but even then it still dug into his lips. 

 It was the bit gag from earlier. 

 Bucky then cuffed his ankles together and picked him up like he weighed nothing, bringing him around to what Steve guessed was the other side of the couch and setting him on the floor, giving him orders to kneel up. That position included a reasonable amount of strain, and it took a moment for Steve to find his balance. 

 Then Bucky just… left. 

 Steve waited. And waited. He heard a light rusting noise, but then nothing. Nothing. 

_ Rustle rustle.  _

__ Pause. 

_ Rustle rustle.  _

__ Pause. 

 It was a book, Steve decided. Bucky was reading a book. 

 Bucky was  _ reading a book.  _

__ Steve whined against the gag, and Bucky commanded sharply “Quiet.” 

 He went silent, but he couldn’t stop his skin from crawling. He was too exposed; it was like the damn loincloth again. 

 After he’d been sitting there for about as long as he could take, he shook his head. Immediately quiet footsteps lead to him, and the bit gag was removed. “How are you doing?”

 “How much time is left?” Steve exhaled. He could only do a little more. Was it night already? It must at least be close.

 “Steve,” Bucky said sympathetically. “It’s only been twenty minutes.” 

 Steve whined loudly, the noise soon getting muffled by the gag. His legs ached. Oh joy. He could now add his thighs to the ever growing list of sore things. 

 Time passed at a sloth-like speed, with nothing to do and nowhere to move and nothing to see. It was worse because there wasn’t even anything to hear, besides the quiet rustling as Bucky turned pages in his book. Soon, the space between pages grew so long Steve thought Bucky had fallen asleep, only for him to turn another page a few seconds later. 

 It was hell. Steve did his best to shift subtly, feeling his body and testing to see which parts hurt. His ass was fine— Bucky hadn’t fucked him yet, which was a relief— but his arms were sore, especially bound behind him so. His thighs ached from the stress position. His jaw wasn’t having a good time either, what with the way it was held open so. At least his shoulder didn’t burn anymore— it had hurt like hell the first few days after he’d gotten the tattoo. 

 It was a couple infinities later that the floors creaked again, and his gag and blindfold were being undone. Steve sighed in relief, but when the blindfold was removed he saw that it was still daytime, and he sagged painfully. This was shaping up to be the longest day of his life— and he’d spent an entire week on display not long ago. This should have been nothing. Yet, it was somehow so much worse.

 “How are you doing?” Bucky asked again, caressing his hair. 

 After so long without any change in stimulation, Steve greeted the touch fondly, leaning into it. “Please. Bu- Master. I shouldn’t’ve left. I should’ve stayed. I… should’ve told you I was panicking. I’m sorry, I swear it won’t happen again.” 

 Bucky continued stroking his hair, quiet and thoughtful. “Do you know what I like about this?” 

 Steve’s heart sunk. Bucky was about to tell him how much he liked Steve being quiet, and docile, and still. He was going to leave him here for hours more. “What?”

 “You’re talking to me.” His nails lightly traced across the soft hairs on the side of his head, scraping lightly. Steve almost moaned. “We won’t have the problems we do if you would just talk to me. I can give you what you need.” 

 Steve opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. That sentence, right there, was wrong. No one should ever be the sole provider for another person; it simply wasn’t possible. It wasn’t in human nature to be completely dependent on one person for everything; it simply wasn’t reasonable.  

 “Talk to me,” Bucky hummed. 

 “I need a friend,” Steve blurted out. “I. Um. I need someone else I can talk to. There’s nothing wrong with you. But. You want me to be completely reliant on you. And I can’t. I’m sorry.” 

 Bucky quieted, but he didn’t stop touching his hair. Steve gave in fully to the touch, miserable with it. 

 “I’ll invite my friends over, and you can meet them,” Bucky decided. “And soon the market will open, and you’ll get to talk to lots of people. Have I been isolating you?”

 Steve could have sobbed. “I-I- Maybe. Just a little. It’s not your fault.”

 “It is,” Bucky admitted. “‘M sorry. I do it to myself, I didn’t think I’d do it to you.” 

 “It’s not your fault,” Steve repeated weakly. 

 Bucky sighed, and then, with a relief, Steve realized he was kneeling behind him, undoing his restraints. “Come on. Your punishment has gone on long enough; I believe you have learned your lesson.”

 “I have,” Steve said. It was true, but at this point he was desperate. He was ready to beg. 

 He stretched out when he was released, then turned, making it easier for Bucky to take the shock collar off. Steve flopped on the couch when they were done, forgetting himself, but Bucky just laughed and scooped him up. They lay on the couch together, maybe-possibly-sorta-definitely cuddling, and it really wasn’t all that bad. 

 The sun wasn’t even close to the skyline yet, but the punishment, even shortened, had served its purpose. The idea of leaving the farm, of trying to navigate this strange, sometimes harsh world alone, was greatly unappealing. Maybe that was good; maybe that was bad. Either way, Steve couldn’t be bothered with it right now. He was safe, whether he liked it or not, held in Bucky’s arms. And in that moment, that’s all he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! And with this chapter done, the darker stuff is officially over. Not that it's all going to be sunshine snd roses for Steve, but things are definitely looking up. The next chapter will have Bucky's friends in it-- any guesses to who they are?
> 
> At ~some point~, another slave will show up in this fic and talk to Steve. And requests for who it will be/who their master is?
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. The Friends

 From the way Bucky was acting about it, Steve would’ve thought someone important was coming over. Bucky went through and cleaned the kitchen thoroughly, even though it was already pretty clean, and along with Steve doing his normal daily chore of scrubbing the floor he had to vacuum the couch and wipe down the glass wall. Bucky also ordered him to clean his room, which resulted in Steve giving him a weird look. He didn’t  _ own anything,  _ what did he have to clean? Regardless, he made his bed— and remade it when Bucky insisted on military corners— and fluffed his pillows to optimal fluffage. Steve was pretty sure that his room just had to be clean because it was so visible, but the bed thing made him uncomfortable. Bucky’s friends were just coming over to visit, he reassured himself. Probably not to do bed-activities. Probably. 

 He was pretty sure. Like, 78% sure. 65%. 

 Once the house was at optimal cleanliness, Bucky helped Steve get dressed. “But we’re staying inside,” Steve argued, “doesn’t that mean we should wear comfort clothes?”

 “Good comfort clothes,” Bucky corrected, like that made any sort of sense. “But you’ll be on display for the first time, so you need to be dressed nicer.” 

 Bucky’s idea of nicer, apparently, included black shorts shorter than any Steve had ever worn before, designed so there was a little extra fabric that was rolled up his thighs. He was also given a slightly baggy short-sleeved brown shirt, which wow, amazing, another piece of clothing that wasn’t black. Bucky was really branching out. 

 Steve was obviously able to get those clothes on by himself— though Bucky took it upon himself to help him tuck in the shirt,  _ thanks _ — but after that, Bucky had to help him. He was given some sort of harness that wrapped around the shorts and up all the way to his natural waist, which Bucky had to fidget with and adjust for a few moments. He stepped back, considered, and said “Kneel.” 

 Every time he was given that command, Steve got the almost unquenchable urge to sigh dramatically. So far, he’d managed not to, but one of these days he might not make it. 

 “Slouch,” Bucky ordered, and Steve frowned but did it. Bucky knelt next to him and stuck two fingers in the band around his waist, which was probably the tightest. “Does it restrict your breathing uncomfortable like this?”

 Steve frowned harder, trying to consider. “I… don’t think so.”

 “Good. Tighter is better, but I’m not going to restrict your breathing. Have you seen some of the corsets people here’ll wear?”

 Steve had. Back home, corsets had always been for either costumes or lingerie, but here some people wore them over their everyday clothes. The shapes were a little different though— the ones he’d seen here didn’t have cups for breasts. They always stopped below that. 

 “Yeah,” Steve said, answering Bucky’s question a little belatedly. “Yeah. I’ve seen them.” 

 “Think you’d like to try one?”

 “I don’t know,” Steve said a little sarcastically, “I kind of like my internal organs where they are. You know; internal.”

 Bucky pulled Steve to his feet, tapping him on the thigh, like a slap but without any force. “Smart ass. It wouldn’t be tight, wouldn’t restrict your breathing. I got you one last week, but it’s just made of cloth and ribbon.”

 “Oh.” That didn’t sound too bad. Maybe a little weird, but it wouldn’t have been the weirdest thing Steve’s worn so far. He’s adjusting to the clothes faster than he’d expected, which may or may not have been because of the relief that he  _ got  _ clothes. It was the bondage that he didn’t like. 

 Speaking of, Steve’s clothes were on, which meant that that was coming next. But to Steve’s surprise, Bucky just had him sit on the bed as he undid some black ribbon and started wrapping it around Steve’s foot. When he was done, there was ribbon wrapping around his heels and up his calves, tied off below his knees. It was like the ribbon that wrapped around his shoes, but without the shoes. 

 Bucky muttered under his breath in Russian as he attached a little metal loop to Steve’s collar, then pulled him up by it. “Think you can be obedient today?”

 “I guess it depends what’s asked of me.” 

 Bucky considered him. “I bought you a set of charcoal pencils. If you’re good tonight, you can have them.” 

 Steve’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Charcoal pencils? The pens he’d been using were fine, but he was used to the gradual shading of charcoal, the way he could smear the different shades together until he got something recognizable.

 “I’ll be good,” Steve decided.

 Bucky wiped at his mouth, like he was trying to hide a smile. “Let’s see if you can. No restraints; I might add some later if you need them.” 

 No restraints? As in— no restraints? Sure, they were just staying inside, but people were coming over. Steve had half expected to be kneeling the entire night, pretty and tied up and mute. 

 Bucky ran him through what was expected of him, and they were just finishing up when there was a knock on the door. Bucky hurried to his room to fix his hair, and Steve was left to get the door. 

  He opened it to see a woman with tanned skin and dark hair done in some strange combination of down, in a bun, and braided. She was wearing some kind of elaborate leather tunic with bronze detailing, and her arms were covered with some sort of red sleeves that didn’t connect to her shoulders. She took one look at Steve and then barreled past him, all but shoving him out of the way. “Barnes, I brought crackers!”

 She took one more look at Steve, giving him an up and down before shoving a mesh bag at him and walking away, barging into Bucky’s room like she owned the place. 

 Steve was frozen. He blinked a few times and made a few faces in her general direction, then turned to put the food away. 

 The woman had left the door open, so within a minute the next guest arrived. Sam was as colorful as ever, but without the ruffled sleeves this time. 

 Bucky came out of his room in time to greet him, letting Sam kiss his cheek with only minor complaining in Russian. Bucky didn’t reciprocate it, but he did turn around and give the woman a big obnoxious kiss on the cheek, making her shriek with delight, slapping him away like some sort of pest. The next guest came in through the door then: another man, this one with a huge red cloak and what looked almost like welder’s gloves. “Bucky, I’m ashamed of you. Leaving the door open, in this economy?”

 “Shut up, Strange.” 

 “Hey, that’s  _ Doctor  _ Strange to you.” The man hadn’t even fully entered the house yet before he noticed Steve in the kitchen and raised one thick eyebrow. He switched to Russian, saying something that sounded like an insult to Bucky, his eyes quickly returning to Steve.

 Bucky rolled his eyes, replying with something in the same tongue. Steve bit his lip, trying to watch the interaction, but as far as he could tell there were no cognates between English and Russian. 

 The woman looked up, faux confused. “This is so strange. Here I am, inside your house, and no one has offered to take my things yet. Hmm. It is almost like. You don’t have a slave.”

_ Oh fuck.  _

 Steve hurried around the counter, mentally cursing himself for already forgetting his duties. He stood patiently for the woman to take off her arm guards, handing them to him along with her elaborate belt. There was another, less noticable belt underneath it, which seemed redundant, but Steve kept his mouth closed as he took the things. He quickly brought them over to the stools, laying them out as carefully as he thought he could without taking too much time. He scurried back over, and Sam gave him his stuff without looking. When Steve came back, Strange ignored him, and so Steve had to wait for a pause in the conversation to say “Excuse me, do you want me to take your gloves?” 

 Strange turned and looked at him. He was noticeably taller, which was annoying as fuck, though Steve tried not to let it show. “Why would I give you my gloves?”

 Steve had guessed gloves because everyone else was taking off their bulky accessories, switching from their social clothes to what could almost, maybe pass as casual clothes, but Strange looked at him like it was a ridiculous notion. Steve stood their silently, trying to respond, but not sure what he was supposed to say. A few things came to mind, but he was pretty sure if he said those things he would not be getting charcoal pencils anytime soon. 

 “Take my cape,” Strange said finally, unclipping the mass of red fabric and tossing it to him. The cape was so heavy Steve stumbled slightly, but forced himself to straighten and carry it as if it was light as anything. He laid it out on the remaining stool; it was a good thing Bucky only had three friends, otherwise there wouldn’t be anymore room. 

 “Alright, alright,” Bucky said, in English,  _ finally.  _ “Stop bullying me. This is my slave Steve. Steve, this is Sam, Doctor Strange, and Valkyrie, and they all have been verbally abusing me since I’ve known them because I didn’t want to get a slave. Fine, fine, haha, you guys are hilarious.”

 “Does he listen?” Strange asked, like he was already implying that Steve doesn’t. 

 “Yes. When he’s not too busy being chased by the livestock.”

 The others laughed. Steve opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it again. He glared at Bucky, cheeks turning pink. 

 “Alright, alright. Let’s sit down. Stevie, get us drinks.”

_ Oh, I’ll get you drinks,  _ Steve thought spitefully.  _ Rum and arsenic. Mmm mmm, yum. Did no one ever tell you to be polite to the person who serves you food? _

__ Luckily, they stay speaking in English after that, so he can eavesdrop as he moves around the kitchen. There’s a new store that opened, specializing in leatherwear and accessories. Bucky looks intrigued when he catches Steve’s eye, and Steve already knows that they’ll be going. Doctor Strange’s mother is trying to host a family reunion, and he’s dreading it. They tease him about it. “Hey, you try sitting through a meal when half of your relatives are green,” he says over Valkyries laughter. “It’s not fun.”

 They’ve moved on to talking about a common friend when Steve comes over, a platter with drinks on it in hand. He does his best not to be invasive as he passes them out, but it’s made harder when Valkyrie downs her deep purple wine in one go and he has to go back for a refill. 

 “Just bring the bottle,” she orders over her shoulder, not even bothering to look at him. 

 Steve clenches his teeth, closes his eyes, exhales, then continues. He used to work at a fast food place with 90 cent fries and a drive-through window that was always busy; he’s handled worse. 

 It becomes clear soon enough what type of party this is. They drink glass after glass of wine, keeping Steve on his toes, but by the looks of it it may take a while for them to actually get drunk. They’re all much bigger than him; one glass on its own would get him tipsy.

 Steve fetches them refills of wine and refills the appetizer plates. They go through them quickly, so Steve spends all of the time he isn’t running back and forth making new ones. They eat cheese and crackers, and then crackers with a strange spread and a garnish; eggs that Sam prepared with the yolks scooped out and flecked with red; some sort of small pastry filled with cream and vegetables. Steve ate before they came over, but he’s still tempted to try some of them. 

 He listens to the conversation as he works. From what he can tell, Valkyrie makes a lot of innuendos which cause Sam to almost spit his drink, which then makes her cackle madly at him. Strange ignores them, continuing on with his stories of grandeur, and for the most part, Bucky stays silent. He gets like that in the city too, where he’ll go so quiet he’ll start dissolving into the shadows. Steve thinks that’s one of the reasons he wears the mask. 

 The others don’t seem to mind, though. Steve catches them watching his expressions, taking tiny movements as approval or dismissal. 

 They take extra long on the last tray, and they slowly stop asking for refills. Steve leans against the counter in the kitchen, looking at his feet as he flexes and points them, seeing how the ribbon moves and feels, the bottoms of his feet are green and yellow with faded bruises, and the black is a nice contrast against it. 

 At some point, Sam and Strange get in a heated argument about something in Russian, and Valkyrie turns to Bucky to tell him a story in English. Outside, Fenris barks, and there’s the sounds of a squabble, probably him attacking another potential predator, either to the geese or the crops. Steve starts washing empty appetizer trays at the sink, and the water is cold and the soap smells strongly. The smell of wine is already lodged up his nose, mixing with the soap and the lingering scent of the strange spread they’d used. Steve’s hands feel a different texture than normal; too doughy. He’s washing, and listening, and his ears are trying to comprehend the Russian at the same time, and his legs are bare besides the shorts, making them cold despite his upper body behind warm, and the loop of metal on the collar hangs heavy against his sternum. It’s a lot; too much, maybe. 

 Steve finishes his washing up, retrieves the final platter, and washes that too. The eating part of the evening is now officially over. Steve thinks fondly to his notebook, hidden under the bed frame in his fishbowl of a room, and wonders if he would be allowed to go and sketch now that he’s no longer needed. The fishbowl is not ideal, but he could hide between the bed and the wall, where no one can see him. 

 He lingers in the corner of Bucky’s vision, and when Bucky looks at him Steve darts his eyes to his room and back, hoping Bucky will understand the silent question. Bucky gestures him over.

 Steve does not want to be in front of these people. His senses are already on overload, and he fears their breathes will reek of the wine they’ve been swallowing by the gallon. It is simply too much. 

 Still, he goes around the couches to stand by Bucky’s side, trying to make himself as non-intrusive as possible. Strange is sitting on the other part of the loveseat, and on the other one is Valkyrie and then Sam. Strange’s ankle is locked in Valkyries, and Valkyrie’s shoulder brushes Sam’s. Bucky is not touching any of them. 

 “What is it?” Bucky asks quietly. Steve was still practically hiding from the others, but he could feel their eyes on him. He was too close.

 “I— I need a break,” Steve says, unsure if he’s doing something that will garner praise or punishment. “It’s. A lot.” 

 Bucky nods. “Do you think you’re going to have a breakdown?”

 A breakdown? Steve isn’t sure what that looks like in Bucky’s book. Crying? Sprinting down the dirt road? He shakes his head, but it is not a confident motion.

 “We’re going to try something,” Bucky decides, still speaking quietly. The others converse in the background, but it is quieter than it was before, like they’re listening to each other with one ear and eavesdropping with the other. “There won’t always be a clean spot for you to run away to. Give this a chance, alright?”

 Steve nods, but he can already tell he’ll hate it. Anything that is not immediate escape is intolerable. 

 Bucky leans over the arm of the couch and retrieves something from underneath it: cuffs. Steve could cry. Bucky attached them to his wrists, and they’re lukewarm with a relatively loose chain, about 6 inches of give, and they send another spiral of sensory data to his brain.

 Bucky leads him around the couch, and even though they’re still barely on the edge of the group, Steve feels like he’s on display. He might be imagining the eyes trained on his ass— or maybe it’s just Valkyrie. He wouldn’t mind that, too much. She was rude to him at first, but she’s the most human of the group, even with her abnormal name. 

 Bucky pulls him closer, spreads his legs, and pulls Steve down to kneel between them. Steve jerks backwards when Bucky starts guiding his head. This is not a good time to give Bucky a blowjob; or anyone else, for that matter. Everyone else. If Bucky thinks that he can do that right now, he’s got another thing coming. Probably a severed dick. And then one of the others will take his gun and finish Steve off for him, and leave him in the backyard for the dog and the geese—

 But Bucky does not undo his clasp. Instead, he gently guides Steve’s face to his thigh, pressing him against it so that Steve’s eyes are covered by the fabric. Steve exhales shakily, and relaxes into it as Bucky begins stroking his hair. His body will be mostly obscured, hidden in between Bucky’s legs like this, and his face is completely obscured. He could close his eyes, let out those sighs he’s been holding in, take a nap. 

 Steve finally gives in, going all the way limp against his leg. The floor Steve spends so much time scrubbing is cool against his knees, but not cold, not unpleasant. Steve is enveloped in Bucky’s heat, surrounded but not trapped, like being curled up in a box with only five sides.

 Steve pulls at his sleeves, covering his fists with them so he can clench and unclench them. His hands are bound in front of him, but that just means that he won’t be expected to keep his balance. When his hands are bound in front of him, it still allows for a decent range of motion. He could still hold a book, or draw. But he wouldn’t be expected to fetch wine, or wash dishes. 

 Steve stays there for a while, his mind drifting. With the gentle touch in his hair, and his eyes obscured, he can pretend he’s somewhere else. He has fallen asleep at movie night. His face is buried in Natasha’s Hello Kitty pajama pants, and she plays with his hair idly, trying to braid it even though they’ve confirmed time and time again that it’s too short. Steve is a nuisance; he asks Natasha why she keeps him around. All he does is take up space on her couch and eat her food. 

 She answers, affectionately, “Because Clint’s hair is really too short, and blankets are expensive.” Then she gives him that little smile of hers, the same one she gives to boys when she dumps them. Playful. Teasing. Merciless.

 Steve loves her. He hopes she’s okay.

 Bucky’s finger loops through the back of Steve’s collar, at one point, and pulls his head back, scanning his face with a fond little look. It’s not a smile, because Bucky Doesn’t Feel Things Like That, but it’s fond and nice and happy all the same. “I was checking to see if you’d fallen asleep.”

 “Oh. Did I?” Steve whispers. He doesn’t think he did. Maybe he fell into that space right before sleep; he’d still been listening to the Russian in the background, still been aware of the wood floor underneath him. The moment with Natasha was a memory, not a dream. He was glad. That meant that it was real, even if it wasn’t his current reality. 

 “Do you feel better?” Bucky asks. He seems genuinely curious, wanting to know if his little experiment worked. Steve instinctively wants to lie, keep him from the pleasure he might find in being right, but at the same time, it did work. It was good; if he told Bucky so, maybe he’d let him do it again. Steve nods, and Bucky brightens. “Do you want to join the conversation?”

 Oh. Steve hadn’t realized that was an option. “Sure?”

 Bucky pulls him up into a position where he’s still on the floor, but no longer hidden or slouched so. Steve feels the harness adjust against him. 

 The others have gone quiet, and they look at him analytically. It’s analyzing, yes, but no longer calculating, like they’re trying to find all of his flaws. The wine has made them nicer. 

 “So Valkyrie, how’s the new slave training going?” Sam asked, turning to see her better. His arm is over the back of the couch, like he can’t help but stretch his wings. 

 Valkyrie waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. Exhausting, mostly. She thinks too hard.”

 “Oh, well clearly you have to break her of that habit.” Sam says it like a joke, but Steve isn’t sure if it is or not. 

 Valkyrie shrugged. “She’s more interesting than Gamora. They’re still fighting, though.”

 “Do you try to get them to stop?” Bucky asked, almost as quietly as he’d been talking to Steve, but that doesn’t seem to bother the others.

 “No. It’s interesting. I usually intervene before they draw blood, though.” 

 Strange makes a buzzing noise, like someone getting electrocuted, and Valkyrie kicks him in the leg fondly. “What about you, Sam? Do you still have your favorite?”

 Sam sighs as dramatically as Steve wants to about 20 times a day, leaning back more against the couch like just the thought of it exhausts him. “Yes, yes. He works hard to keep in my good graces.”

 Valkyrie coughs out something in Russian, and Doctor Strange has to cover his mouth to keep from laughing. Sam shoots her a glare but doesn’t retaliate. 

 “How many slaves do you have?” Steve asks before he can stop himself. Sam had said ‘favorite’, so it was probably at least three. 

 Technically Bucky had given him permission to join the conversation, though Steve didn’t think that was  _ actual _ permission. Too late now. 

 Sam doesn’t even hesitate to answer, though. “Six. What can I say, I’m a busy man.” 

 “They take baths together,” Valkyrie says, as if it’s the most disgusting thing she’s heard. “And then pick lice out of each other’s hair and eat it.” 

 Sam smacks her on the shoulder without restraint, and she lets out a surprised noise of protest and a big grin, swiveling so she could kick him hard in the calf. They continue slap fighting for a few moments before he shoves her away, smiling and shaking his head, saying “Women. So emotional.” 

 If there was still a wine glass within reach, Steve was sure that she would smash him over the head with it. Instead Valkyrie just punches him in the shoulder, this one even harder. He rubbed it as he continued. “They do  _ not  _ have lice, but sometimes they do take baths in pairs. What, I don’t want to waste water! It’s bad for the environment! When we run out of water, it will be  _ your  _ fault, not mine!”

 “Water is a renewable resource, dumbass,” Strange interrupted, saying exactly what Steve was thinking. “What do you even need six slaves for anyways?”

 “Well, the bigger the house, the bigger the staff, you know?” He wiggled his eyebrows for emphasis. 

 “What do you even do?” Steve interjected, wishing he could bite his own tongue off as soon as he said it. Bucky looked a finger in his collar, holding him still. “I mean, what’s your job?” He was assuming he wasn’t a farmer. 

 “I’m a… lifestyle blogger,” Sam said mischievously. Strange was covering his mouth with one hand, shaking his head back and forth in shame. “My slaves help, too. It’s like a family YouTube channel. Wait, YouTube is a Midgardian thing, right?”

 “It is,” Steve confirmed, unsure of how he should be reacting. “What types of videos?”

 “Lifestyle,” Sam answered smoothly. “Day in the life stuff.” 

 “Porn,” Bucky coughed into his fist.

 Sam sent him a glare, but besides that ignored him. “They all have their own cameras and record throughout the day, which is nice, because it means I can keep better track of what they’re all doing. I let them pretty much roam free in the mansion. They do all have their chores and daily duties of course,” he said this like it was a boring formality. “But it’s a pretty good time.” 

 “I don’t have the energy for six slaves,” Valkyrie replied sadly. 

 “Or the stamina,” Strange agreed.

 Sam said something lewd to them in Russian, and all three of them groaned. Steve wanted to ask what he’d said— while at the same time, really not wanting to know— but he was pretty sure that was off-limits. They spoke Russian purposefully, to exclude him.

 Eventually the conversation sombered, and they all settled in to watch a movie. Steve noticed with a start that they intended to stay the night. Bucky complained viciously, but went with Steve to the hall closet to get blankets all the same. 

 When everyone was settled in, Doctor Strange gestured Steve over. Bucky gave him a little push, so he went, sitting on the spot about two feet away from Strange in confusion. He startled back when Strange grabbed on of his feet, lifting his leg back and almost causing Steve to fall on his back, barely catching himself with both hands to one side, still cuffed together. Strange examined the bottom of Steve’s bruised foot, then traded it off to look at the other one. He said something to Bucky in Russian, to which Bucky just responded to with one word and a grunt. 

 They all got comfortable on the floor, lazily leaning against the couch. Bucky sat all the way upright, the least relaxed of the group. Steve wasn’t sure if he had to stay, but he did anyways, cuddling up against Bucky’s side and reaching out with his feet towards Strange, wanting to make contact but knowing he probably wasn’t allowed. Strange didn’t even hesitate before taking Steve’s feet and tucking them under one of his blankets like he thought they might be cold. It was good enough; Steve was now acting as the connecting piece between Bucky and his friends, completing the circuit of physical contact. 

 Bucky put his arm around Steve’s waist, playing with the harness mildly. They watched a movie with English subtitles, and Steve was very, very greatful, even if the plot was horrific and the villain generic. 

 When the movie ended, Bucky shooed Steve away, and Steve wrapped himself in a blanket burrito and hid in between his bed and the wall. He fell asleep instantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers* sam's a sexual deviant
> 
>  
> 
> Oh, why lookie here! A chapter without Steve messing up and getting punished, I didn’t realize I made those anymore! 
> 
> Okay, so I’m really excited what you think about Bucky's friends. We’ve got Strange, Sam, and Valkyrie, which let me just say, what a mix. This fandom has a bad tendency of getting stuck with the same filler characters in every story, and I feel like it leads to a lot of lost characterization. I haven’t been immune to it in the past, but look!! Different characters!! Characters from earth!! Characters from space!! Mention of a Guardians character!! Excillerating!!
> 
> Fun fact, I did not plan on the Sam stuff going this way, but it was one of those things that I just couldn’t let not happen. I would like you all to take a moment and think about Sam, the sexual deviant and YouTube extraordinaire, with his channel of click bait, daily vlogs, and (probably) orgies. What a variety. What a guy. 
> 
> Comments, comments, comments, blah, blah, blah, you guys know the drill. I’ve been having some amazing discussions, so ghost readers, feel free to jump in any time! I’d love to hear your thoughts.


	8. The Beginning Of The Harvest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with some discussions and mentions of pretty violent activity, but no actual violence. Also, it is VITAL you read all the way through; don’t stop half way because you think you know what’s going to happen, because I can gurentee you, you don’t. Read to the end.

 By the first week of August, the crops were ready for harvest. Bucky had already secured a spot at the market, so all that was left was the harvest. 

 The harvest was… interesting. 

 Steve had to learn exactly how ripe they wanted the onions, peppers and cucumbers, and what it looked like for each. Each morning he woke up even earlier than usual and went outside to do his daily chores, then as the sun began to rise Bucky joined him in harvesting. They crawled through each row, sifting through the forest of leaves to find every pepper and cucumber, and then judge whether they were ripe enough or not. It was meticulous, and they had to be meticulous, otherwise they’d miss some and they’d go to waste. And that was just the peppers and cucumbers; the onions were another thing altogether. Bucky tried to teach Steve some sort of trick of how to tell if the onions were ready by their leaves, but Steve didn’t quite understand it and he was too tired to ask, so instead he just pulled the onions with long, healthy looking stems. If they weren’t ripe yet he would bury them again and pray that Bucky didn’t notice. 

 The harvest was put in baskets and loaded in the back of a pickup truck that Steve didn’t realize Bucky had. Each basket was heavy enough that they made Steve want to die on the inside, but he pushed through, refusing to admit to weakness. After the trucks were loaded they went inside, finally showered and ate their breakfasts, and them got dressed for the day out in the city. That meant social clothes, which meant, you guessed it, bondage. Steve’s favorite thing in the whole. Wide. World. 

_ Yay _ . 

 Luckily, as long as Steve was good, Bucky didn’t seem to have any problem with letting him go mostly restrained. The biggest annoyances were when Bucky brought him to the city with his arms bound beside him, which Bucky had done a few more times since the first outing. Each time he used a different colored rope, going from pitch black to deep blue to forest green. He practiced with different knots and combinations too, sometimes just looping a rope through the metal arm cuffs, and other times focusing on artistry and intricate Shibari. Steve always knew he was fucked when Bucky laid out one of the long ropes without the cuffs anywhere in sight. The Shibari took significant time to put on and take off, plus it meant that there would be no taking it off mid-trip like they could with the cuffs. It also meant that people sometimes had Steve turn around and hold still so they could admire the ropework. Steve complied— he didn’t want to think about what a public punishment would look like— but that didn’t mean he liked it. 

 But Bucky didn’t bind his arms on market days, for obvious reasons. He usually did bring along cuffs, though, which he used on him only when necessary. Steve did his best to make sure it was  _ never  _ necessary. 

 Because of the lack of bonds, he had to do something else to make it clear that he was wearing his social clothes. This involved a lot of trial and error in the fashion department, in which Steve was the voice-less mannequin being dressed and Bucky was the ill-advised designer. There were successes, however. They tried a variety of different bondage harnesses and leather gear from the store Valkyrie had spoken of, which Steve liked because it was basically just normal comfortable clothes with a small extra layer over it. 

 He did a lot of people watching when at the market. He and Bucky would stay there for about six hours a day, and for the first few days Steve wasn’t allowed to interact with the customers. He was stuck watching the people as they passed. He made a game where he tried to guess if someone was a slave or master without looking at their necks for collars, but as soon as he started he realized it was ridiculously easy. The slaves weren’t always, but tended to be smaller, and the clothes they wore were different. Steve could usually tell a slave from their master just by how revealing their clothes were; masters tended to be decently covered, but slaves always had either their knees or their shoulders exposed. Their clothes were sometimes tighter, more suggestive, or like Steve’s, straight up bondage apparel. About half wore leashes. 

 Across the path from their booth was another, similar in size, selling some weird pink vegetable. It too was manned by an owner and a slave, the owner with loose black hair and his slave with a mop of bleached blond locks. The slave was leashes to the table like Steve was, but his was longer, giving him the freedom to rearrange the vegetables and restack them to his heart's content. Steve was the only one watching when the master grabbed his slave’s lightly-stubbed jaw with one hand, lips moving in what was clearly a threat, and then shoving him back. Steve was sure that, even if someone else had seen, no one would have even batted an eye.

 Bucky manned the booth, selling the vegetables silently. He could speak through his mask, but apparently he wasn’t interested in doing so unless it was absolutely necessary. The buyers didn’t seem to mind; everyone was moving quickly enough that the exchange of money for produce was quick, with the people sometimes not even stopping fully. Bucky seemed hesitant to let Steve, but after a full evening and morning of begging (about 3/4 of which was without words), he allowed Steve to count and keep track of the money. He wouldn’t tell Steve what each coin meant though, just allowed him to track how many of each they had. 

 Well, fuck him. Steve would figure it out for himself. 

 There were three coins that were usually exchanged: all a dull silver, in small, medium and large. They had had holes in the middle for a leather cord to be looped through to keep them together. 

 The peppers and onions were the same price, but the cucumbers were more expensive. Steve watched the exchange of money carefully, but each person paid with a different combination of coins. It wasn’t weight or size based— there was no scale, and the vegetables were consistent in size— so Steve was sure everyone was paying the same amount, even if they paid in different combinations. This was made even harder when people bought multiple vegetables, though that did make it a little easier. After a few hours, Steve was pretty sure the larger coins were worth a larger amount. That would mean, logically, the medium ones would be worth a medium amount, and the small would be a small amount. Like a ten, five, and one dollar bill, maybe. 

 It would have been easier if he was allowed to make notes in his journal, but if he did that Bucky wouldn’t let him count them anymore. The only thing he had at his disposal was his memory, and his carefully arranged piles. 

 “Were you good at school?” Bucky asked him on the drive home, after that first day of counting. 

 “No,” Steve lied, because fuck him. “I dropped out as soon as I turned 16.”

 He realized that he should probably explain what that meant, but Bucky didn’t ask, so he didn’t tell. If Bucky wouldn’t give him information, Steve wouldn’t give him any in return.

 When Steve went to bed that night he prayed that Bucky really wouldn’t go through his journal, and then opened up to a new page. He wrote down his findings and the combinations he remembered, along with a few speculations. He considered writing it in some sort of code, but binary code was long as fuck and it wasn’t good if you didn’t have a page to reference it off of, and all of the numerical codes he knew worked best with a key. Steve ended up decided that even though Bucky spoke English, he  probably couldn’t read it— especially if it was in Steve’s messy cursive. 

 He hid his journal under his bed and finally went to sleep. 

 He woke up only a few hours later and did the chores. His hands got scratched up by a particularly bitchy weed, which made the rest of the work more annoying than usual. Fenris woke up early when Steve refilled his bowl and Steve had to run away, preparing to climb up a tree, but apparently the dog was hungrier for food than he was for scrawny human meat, which Steve couldn’t blame him for. Steve had the vague notion that his insides were slowly rotting with every day he wasted here; he probably wouldn’t taste very well. 

 Steve was half asleep when Bucky dressed him. The Soldier was silent, as he usually was, strapping Steve up in the elaborate harness. The collar was removed, and a thicker one that was already attached to the harness, which was shaped like a bodysuit, with the straps in the front and back connecting to the collar instead of going over his shoulders. Bucky had him wear form fitting clothes underneath that were the same shape, revealing his shoulders, arms, and most of his legs. 

 Bucky paraded him in front of the bathroom mirror, wrapping his arms around him in a bear hug that was a bit too close for what they were used to. Steve tensed, but Bucky wasn’t paying attention. 

 “You look good,” he decided. “But it’s too much.”

 Steve was more than happy to agreed. Unfortunately, before he could, Bucky added “We’ll have to save it for an event.”

 “You’re obnoxious,” Steve said before he could think any better of it. “I look ridiculous and this entire thing is stupid.”

 Bucky was frozen against him. Steve had gone too far— he’d gone too far the moment he’d opened his mouth. Oh well. He was tired; maybe it’d make the beating hurt less.

 Steve detangled himself from Bucky’s arms, shoving him away. Bucky’s eyes were wide, but he seemed to be in so much shock that Steve may have actually had a chance to speak his mind. “I don’t want to wear these stupid clothes and I don’t want to go to the market all day, and I don’t want to be here. I hate farming and I hate your fucking and I most  _ definitely  _ hate you, but that’s a given, and—”

 Before he could go on, Bucky turned around and walked away. 

 Steve was left spluttering, having just worked himself into a temper only to have the rug pulled out from underneath him. He stayed frozen in the bathroom, waiting for Bucky to come back with cuffs or the shock collar or the crop again, but he didn’t. The suspense was maddening, but Steve was already mad. He didn’t care anymore; he’d welcome a fight. 

 But there was no fight. Because, when Steve strained his ears to listen, he didn’t hear Bucky shuffling around the house, but the motor of the truck. 

 Steve rushed out of his room, getting to a window just in time to see Bucky’s truck pull out of the driveway. 

 Steve hesitated only a moment before rushing to the door, trying it. Locked. The back door, too, and the windows. He was stuck. 

 It took him a few moments of mild panic before he decided what he needed to do. To start, he needed to get out of the stupid harness that had caused these problems in the first place. 

 Steve stripped down, knowing that’d probably get him in even more trouble, but he wasn’t going to stay in the harness. He got dressed again in the loose brown shirt and black sweats, lingering in front of the mirror. He looked more like himself than he had in weeks, even with the hair cut. The haircut really wasn’t bad. Since he apparently had time to spare, he ran his fingers through it, feeling the new feathered texture. The hair by the nape of his neck was short and soft to touch. 

 Steve wasn’t even wearing his collar. The haircut was just a haircut; there was nothing else on him claiming him as owned by anyone besides himself. Except…

 Steve ragged his shirt off, turning and craning his neck to see the tattoo in the mirror. He still didn’t know what the little Russian words meant, just that they were a brand, just the same as if they’d been burned into his skin. It didn’t hurt anymore, at least. The tattoo wasn’t all that offensive; people got tattoos in other languages all the time. He could go back to Earth and no one would give him a second look. He’d be the only one who knew what it meant. 

 Well. As long as he never went bare chested in Russia. Probably not a problem. 

 Steve ended up pulling his shirt back on and going to the living room to pace. Bucky had taken the truck and left knowing that Steve would have free reign to the house, but that he wouldn’t be able to get out. What was Steve supposed to do? Sit in the corner in some form of self-punishment and think about everything he’d done wrong? Strip down and wait, face down and ass up, so when Bucky got back maybe he’d be distracted enough by sex that he wouldn’t fucking murder Steve? Come to think of it, Bucky had been more physically affectionate with him as of late, all culminating to that morning when he’d wrapped around Steve. It wasn’t inherently sexual, but it was touch. Was Bucky warming Steve up to it? Trying to get him used to the idea of being used? It was probably in hopes that Steve wouldn’t struggle too much, then it would actually feel like rape and Bucky would have a hard time communicating himself out of that. Although really, what did it matter if Steve struggled? Bucky had already shown he was more than adept at bondage. He’d just tie Steve up, gag him for good measure, have him kneeling with his face to the sheets so Bucky wouldn’t have to look at him, and then have his way. No lube. The villains in the movies never used lube. 

 It was horrific, but Steve had been expecting to be bent over and fucked for as long as he’d known Bucky, so he was at least used to the idea. And despite what Bucky surely expected, Steve wouldn’t put up a fight. If he put up a fight, he’d just end up panicking. Too much unnecessary trauma; no, he would go willing. Close his eyes. Imagine… he didn’t fucking know, Clint? Clint’s play flirting hadn’t always been just play, and Steve’s joking responses hadn’t always been jokes. 

_ You, me, a bottle of whipped cream and a packet of rubbers. What do you say?  _

_  Time and place, baby. I’m yours.  _

__ It never went further than the jokes. But come to think of it, being fucked by Clint would not be the worst thing ever. He was caring, gentle. Would hold Steve and look him in the eyes as they did it. No restraints. No need. Or Steve would fuck him, and they’d kiss the whole time, both making ridiculous high-pitched noises when they got close, and when they were done, they would kiss again, get dressed, and promise that they’d never, ever tell Nat. Of course, the next day she would know anyways, because that was just how she was. 

 Could Steve really tarnish Clint’s image by pretending it was him who was doing the assaulting? It would make it easier to take, but Steve knew that he couldn’t do that. Clint would saw off his own leg before he assaulted somebody. 

 Steve couldn’t keep thinking about this. It would happen when it happened, and Steve would take it. No pretending. No lies. Just the moment, the act of being forced against his will to receive what in other situations would be pleasure, but in this situation would be the opposite. He would grin and bear it, because if he didn’t then his bones would surely turn to glass and fracture, and he’d be discarded in a limp heap on the bedroom floor. 

 But Steve really,  _ really  _ couldn’t keep thinking about this. Whatever Bucky did to him as punishment when he came back, be it involving sex or something else, it was happening no matter how much Steve wondered. He needed to do something concrete, something helpful. 

 The first thing that caught his eyes were the books stacked high on Bucky’s shelf. But no, that was ridiculous; no book could save him, and either way, they were all in Russian. 

 Steve froze. Oh.  _ Oh.  _

__ If Bucky ever found out, he’d probably shove the barrel of his rifle up Steve’s ass and pull the trigger. It was fine, Steve would deserve it. Bucky said he’d never punish Steve for breaking rules he didn’t know about, but Steve  _ did  _ know about this rule, even if it had never been spoken. Literacy was knowledge, and knowledge was forbidden to Steve. To any and every slave, really. He was supposed to be completely dependent, and how could he do that if he was  _ competent? _

 So, knowing all of this, Steve got out his journal and one of his precious pens— notably less precious since he’d gotten the charcoal set— and opened up one of the books Bucky had at random. The words meant nothing to him, but he could at least copy down the letters. If he did it enough times, he might even start recognizing them. Once he recognized the letters, he could start learning what they meant. 

 Filled with a newfound hope, Steve spent hours copying down letters. He started with just the letters, making a misordered alphabet, and then started copying down whole pages. He started his work on the floor but it was hardly comfortable, and his back protested when he leaned against the wall, so finally he gave in and sat at the table. Bucky was going to beat his ass anyways; might as well go all in. It may be the last freedom Steve ever gets.

 Around lunchtime his stomach rumbled, so he made himself food, finishing it all and leaving his plate out for inspection out of habit. After Bucky stabbed him like a life sized voodoo doll, Steve could get back some favor with that. With that same train of thought, Steve went back into his room and put his normal collar back on. Bucky was still caught up in the thought process that he was a good person despite all he did to Steve; it shouldn’t be too hard to get back in his favor. He might even get out of the arm bindings before the harvest ended. 

 Bucky stayed out for the entire morning and well into the afternoon, confirming Steve’s suspicions that he went to the market after all. 

 It just so happened that Steve was still really fucking tired, and adrenaline could only last so long. He fell asleep on the couch— yes, the couch he wasn’t allowed on. 

 When Steve awoke, it wasn’t to the sound of the truck pulling in, or the dog barking. It wasn’t even to the sound of the door opening. He had no warning, no alert, no chance to correct himself, because when he awoke he awoke to the sound of a  _ thump  _ on the kitchen counter. Steve startled awake, limbs kicking out weakly, but they didn’t make contact with anything. Bucky’s huge form was across the room from him, his back to him. The mask and goggles were already put away in their place by the door, and Bucky carefully undid the clasps to his stiff leather outerwear, taking it off and laying it over one of the stools. 

 Steve considered getting off of the couch, but for some reason he felt trapped there. Bucky had already seen him on the couch; it didn’t matter if he tried to take it back now. What was done was done. 

 There was something else that kept him stuck to the couch, hardly even breathing. He’d spent all day thinking about what Bucky would do to him, how he’d torture him for fucking up so monumentally. But even as he let his imagination run wild, the thought that Bucky would ever come back had seemed almost absurd. But here he was, standing in the kitchen, pulling something from the bag and washing it thoroughly in the sink, then getting a knife and beginning to peel it, and was that..? No. No, it couldn’t be. No. This wasn’t— it wasn’t happening. It wasn’t real. 

 Steve must have let out some sort of noise, because then Bucky was glancing up at him, continuing to peel the ginger root with unnerving ease, like he was familiar with the weight of the knife in his hand. Bucky’s expression didn’t betray anything— he was so casual Steve could already feel the cuts and bruises, so casual Steve could already imagine his own tombstone. Except, no: Bucky wasn’t going to kill him. No, surely this would be worse. 

 “No,” Steve said out loud, and then when Bucky didn’t react, again, louder:  _ “No. _ No, no way in hell. I’ve seen porn, I know what you’re planning, and there is no way in hell I am going to let you  _ shove that ginger root up my ass. _ ”

 Bucky’s movements froze. His flesh hand released the ginger root, letting it thump against the counter, but it seemed to take a monumental effort to get his metal hand to unlock around the knife. He clenched and unclenched his fists, and Steve could feel just how badly he’d screwed up. 

 Bucky was clearly having a hard time keeping control of his breathing. His chest rose and fell heavily, quickly, almost like he was panicking but he  _ wasn’t,  _ he was  _ angry.  _

 Steve could see his own tombstone. There were flowers on top of it now. Clint and Nat knelt in front of it, shaking their heads.  _ Steve. You stupid fucking idiot.  _

__ “You thought,” Bucky said slowly, quietly, and yep, Steve was dead. “You thought. You thought, that I was going to… shove a ginger root up your… ass.” He looked at Steve then, like he was waiting for confirmation. Steve swallowed. 

 “You.” Bucky couldn’t even get it out this time, having to stop and collect himself once more, looking up to the ceiling like he was praying for it to collapse on top of him.  _ You and me both, buddy.  _ “You thought, that I was going to shove a ginger root up your ass. You  _ thought,  _ that  _ I,  _ was going to  _ shove  _ a ginger root  _ up your ass?”  _

__ The repetition made Steve think it was a may be a genuine question. “Um. Yes?”

 “You.” Bucky pulled away from the counter then, tugging at his clothes and moving without purpose, almost like he was twitching, fiddling? “You. You. What the fuck?”

 The exclamation came out louder than the rest, making Steve flinch into the couch. Bucky wasn’t done, though. 

 “What the fuck?” He repeated. “What the actual fuck, Stevie? Who the fuck do you think you are? Who the fuck do you think  _ I  _ am? Every single fucking time I think we’ve figure out something that works, you go and do that  _ thing,  _ and a ginger root? What the  _ FUCK.  _ I’m making tea, you stupid little asshole, okay, tea! And before you ask, I’m not going to put the tea up your ass either, okay? Motherfucking— what the fuck? What the actual fuck?”

 Steve hadn’t caught all of that, but he had certainly caught the  _ its for tea you dumb prick  _ thing, making him perk up a little. “So, um, just to clarify; you’re not about to fuck me with that?”

 “I’m not about to—  _ Jesus Christ,  _ what the fuck? Where do you even come up with this shit? Why the fuck— what the fuck?!” 

 Bucky dug his fingers into his hair, pulling at it before he seemed to realize what he was doing and begrudgingly pulling away, going back to tugging at his clothes. His metal hand strayed, picking at and pinching the skin of the flesh hand. Steve watched the action with confusion; Bucky had never been anything but perfectly calm and collected around him. Bucky picked up the knife, and for a second Steve thought he was going to throw it at him— or worse, use it on himself— but he just ended up letting out a noise of pure aggravation and burying it in the counter. 

 “I’m going for a run,” Bucky announced finally. “I’m going for a— Jesus Christ, a ginger root? What the fuck, what the fuck. I’m going for a run.”

 Steve shifted uncomfortably, still on the forbidden couch. “Do you want me to, um…”

 “Stay on the couch,” Bucky interrupted, “And yes, that’s an order. I’ll be back. Just… a ginger root? What the fuck. Wouldn’t that hurt?” 

 Steve swallowed. “I think that’s the point. It’s supposed to, um, burn. Most people just put them in the ass, but I read somewhere once that you can also put it in the, uh, the slit. It’s supposed to hurt like a motherfucker.” Oops. Steve probably shouldn’t be telling him that. 

 Bucky stared at him, eyes wide like he was trying to tell if Steve was fucking with him. He must have seen that he wasn’t, because then he was shaking his head, turning and almost running into the door in his rush to leave. “In the.. the slit. I’m going to go on a run now. And I’m going to take the ginger root with me and throw it in the pond. And, new rule, no putting anything in your dick, plant based or otherwise.”

 “Thanks,” Steve said dryly. “Though I wasn’t exactly planning on it.” 

  
 “Right. Putting a ginger root in your— Jesus Christ. I’m going to go for an  _ extra long  _ run. Stay.” He fumbled with his shoes and was out the door before he’d even fully put them on, taking the dreaded ginger root with him. Steve was left staring at the door,  _ still sitting on the couch,  _ and wondering what the  _ fuck  _ just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF. 
> 
> What a chapter. 
> 
> So, the harvest has begun and they are at the market. Bucky is silent while he sells his cucumbers and Steve is bored. Steve is doing some very sneaky things he’s definitely not supposed to do, and oh yeah, he snaps at Bucky. Cue eight hours of freaking himself out a bit too much. Steve may just be a little too imaginative for his own good. 
> 
> Comments! What did you think would happen? What do you hope will happen next? Did anyone notice the master/slave pair mentioned at the market? 
> 
> And, just so you know, there are a few comments from the last chapter that I read but didn’t respond too, mostly because it was a lot and I figured actions speak louder than words, aka, actual content and continued storyline speaks louder than my confused ramblings. I’m still going to reply to most comments, but sometimes I may not, and that’s more because I think itd be better just to keep the storyline moving and see what the characters want to do. 
> 
> Also, fun fact, you guys are an incredibly diverse group of people. Some people are here for the world building. Some are here for short Steve. Some hate the tiny!steve trope. Some are wondering when Steve will kill Bucky, some are wondering when Steve will kill /himself/, and some are wondering when they’ll kiss already. It is hilarious and confusing and a little scary to read, but overall really interesting to see how everyone’s minds work differently and draw completely different conclusions. Also, sorry, but I literally can’t answrr some of your questions. Is Bucky a good guy? Is a bad guy? Who the fuck knows. I’m the author, but I use the term 'author' lightly; I’m more like the body that gets possessed to write the story, and the control i actually have over it is very minimal. Oops. We'll just have to see what happens ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	9. The Beginning Of The Harvest Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary has been updated so it’s a little bit better, and characters have been updated as well. I will purposefully be a little slow updating character tags for spider related reasons :)

Steve wasn’t sure how long Bucky had been gone for, but it’d been long enough for the water on the stove to come to a boil. Steve could hear it froth and bubble, and if the stove wasn’t turned down it’d probably boil over.

 Steve probably spent too much time deliberating before getting up and sprinting across the room, twisting the stove nozzle all the way to off. He was about to turn around when he heard a quiet “What are you doing?” and almost jumped out of his skin. 

 Bucky was standing in the open doorway, his shoulders slumped but his expression annoyed as he looked at Steve. Steve checked that the stove really was off, and then hurried back over to the couch where he had been  _ supposed  _ to stay. “I’m sitting on the couch,” he answered honestly, once he was settled. “And the water was boiling.”

 Bucky ran a hand through his hair. His— shock? Horror?— from earlier seemed to have died down to simple frustration, and maybe a bit of nervousness. He stripped out of his shoes, closed the door, and walked towards Steve. 

 At this point, Steve was pretty sure that Bucky wasn’t going to horrifically rape him, but he still didn’t know for sure. He squirmed against the couch, pressing himself as hard against the armrest as he dared. Bucky just plopped on the other side, sighing and rubbing his face in his hands. 

 “I just wanted a farm hand,” he admitted finally, the words slightly muffled by his hands. “That’s literally it. I needed help with the farm, and my therapist said it’d be good for me, and everyone kept on pestering me about it, so I gave in a bought a slave. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard.” 

 Was Steve allowed to talk? He usually was when they were in private, but the day had been so weird that he wasn’t sure. “Why did your therapist recommend it?”

 Bucky hid his face a little more. “She said I isolate myself. Which, I really don’t.”

 “Bullshit,” Steve coughed. Bucky lived alone on a farm outside of the city limits, only left to run errands, and wore a mask that deterred people from contact literally as much as possible. Bucky practically  _ invented  _ isolation. 

 It made Steve feel a little better about the isolation he’d experienced. Bucky had tried not to isolate him, but clearly Bucky had no idea what the fuck he was doing when it came to that. 

 Bucky looked up and glared at him. “Shut up.”

 “Yes Master, of course Master, anything you want Mas—”

 Bucky kicked him, and Steve cackled, leaning back against the couch. It was… freeing. Steve missed talks like this, missed teasing his friends and getting lots of little slaps and flicks and pinches for it. 

Bucky shook his head, sighing again. “I’m not here to hurt you, and I’m not here to break you. I just need help with work. And expectations on Heidrun are different from Midgard; even if I just bought you to do farmwork, that doesn’t give me an excuse to let you dress sloppily. And I can’t have you making a scene, so the bondage is necessary. I’m sorry, I know you don’t like it. I’m just trying to get through your training with as few casualties as possible.”

 It was probably the most honest Bucky had ever been with him. It made Steve uncomfortable; what if it was all a lie? But he went through each statement, rehearsing and rehashing it in his mind, and it all held up. Except for one. 

 “You don’t just do the bondage and the clothes because society expects you to. You get something out of it too; what?”

 Bucky covered his smile with his metal hand, ashamed, but still optimistic. “I um. I’m really into the aesthetic.”

 Steve paused. “You’re. Into the aesthetic.” 

 “A little.”

 “You’re a fucking nut.”

 Bucky kicked him again, looking a little more annoyed this time. Steve didn’t back down. “No, really. You’re an absolute freak, what the fuck.”

 “You’re the one who thought I would shove a ginger root up your ass,” Bucky defended. “Which is, by the way, such a waste of a perfectly good ginger root. Do you know how hard they are to grow?”

 No, Steve didn’t, and no, he didn’t care. “You’re crazy! You’re an actual lunatic, you’re actually, clinically insane!” Bucky tried kicking him again, but Steve dodged it, hopping over the armrest and into a standing position. “I bet you’d fig me if you thought it’d look pretty, huh? What if I told you there was nothing more aesthetically pleasing than a onion up my ass, would you do that?”

 Bucky’s body was tighter now, and though he was still on the couch he looked ready to spring. “Shut up.”

 They had been joking, hadn’t they? The atmosphere had been light. Why was it angry all of a sudden? Why was  _ Steve  _ angry? 

 That was one question he didn’t need answering. 

 “No, I just think it’s funny, that’s all. You know, you act all high and mighty like you care or something, but when it comes down to it, you’re willing to take away my autonomy for  _ aesthetic.” _

__ “I’m trying to work with you here,” Bucky complained. “Stop digging your own grave.”

 Steve laughed at that, because he could imagine the tombstone from his earlier musings. Natasha and Clint were still kneeling in front of it, but now Natasha was facepalming. Still, it wasn’t enough to make him stop. “You’re a maniac, you’re—”

 “Shut up or I’ll make you.”

 Steve laughed again, loud and painful. Everything hurt, but the fight was only beginning. It didn’t matter, Steve was ready. “I’d like to see you try.”

 One moment he was standing on the hardwood floor, triumphant and powerful, and the next his wrist was in an iron grip, being hauled back to his room so forcefully he almost slipped and fell. He scampered to keep up with Bucky’s fast pace, thankful that Bucky had grabbed onto his wrist instead of his collar, even if it meant his shoulder was stinging something bad from the unexpected pulling. 

 Bucky tossed him on the bed roughly, and Steve thought  _ this is it, finally.  _ But Bucky didn’t follow him. Instead, he went to one of the drawers that only opened to his touch. 

 But Steve was fine. The entire situation, really, was hysterical. All he needed was one little slip up, one time where Bucky finally gave in and punched him, or raped him, and then Steve would be free. Not literally, not physically— but mentally, emotionally free. There would be no wondering, then, if it was his fault. There would be no uncertainty, no constant pounding of  _ when when when when.  _ The question of ‘when’ would be answered: whenever he wants. It wasn’t ideal, but it was an answer. Having the lights turned on only to find a monster in front of you is so much worse than staying in the dark, always wondering if there was a monster at all.

 While Bucky’s back was turned, Steve got up from the bed, clasping his fists together and raising them to strike. He brought them down hard, aiming for Bucky’s head, but he must have caused some shift in the air because Bucky jerked to the side just a moment before he could be hit, grabbing Steve’s hands and yanking them forewords. Steve almost smashed his head on the desk, but Bucky caught him just in time, protecting his skull as he forcibly pulled him away from the dresser. Steve kept trying to fight, weak as he was turned and pulled around, the world around him distorting as he tried to get his balance back, but then he was shoved roughly against the wall and his wits came back to him all at once. The world was in perfect, vivid focus, and Steve gasped. 

 Bucky was pressed against him, his metal hand curled around Steve’s neck, holding him there. He was angry, clearly, but it wasn’t reckless. He was perfectly in control: he could walk a tightrope, he could slay a thousand enemies, he could do anything,  _ anything,  _ he could do anything with that sort of highly focused rage. 

“Don’t.  _ Ever.  _ Do that again,” Bucky said, breathing even more heavily than Steve. The anger was there, but behind it was something else— fear? “Not ever. I could. I could  _ hurt you.  _ Don’t ever do that again; I’d prefer if you ran away.” 

 Not ‘I want you to run away’; ‘I’d  _ prefer _ you to run away’. He’d prefer Steve run away than try and fight him again? What did that even mean?

 “I am your master,” he said, tone hard and deadly. His hand subconsciously tightened around Steve’s neck, and Steve was caught in between the desire to struggle and the desire not to choke himself even more than he already was. “You will listen. You will obey. And I told you that I would shut you up if I had to. Open up.” 

 The command was redundant; Steve mouth was already open, gaping, shock and surprise and anticipation all running through him, not unlike getting on a rollercoaster you didn’t expect to survive. You knew you probably would make it, that it probably would be alright, but the twists and turns make your stomach tighten just looking at them. Fear is not always bad, and right now, Steve was definitely afraid. But not the bad type. 

 Bucky carefully inserted a ball gag in Steve’s mouth, leaning more heavily against Steve as he let go of his neck to fasten it in the back. It was adjusted and tightened, and then there was the familiar little  _ click  _ in the back. Steve struggled, but it was more for show than anything else. He just didn’t know anymore; that was it. He simply didn’t know. 

 The lights had been turned on, and there was no monster. There was just a human; but then again, weren’t humans the worst monsters of them all? 

 Bucky dragged Steve back into the living room, one hand on his collar and the other in his hair, pulling him roughly and pushing him to his knees in the corner. “I’m going to go outside and play with Fenris. And you’re going to sit here, in your time out, and think about what you’ve done.” 

 The collar was locked to the wall on an extremely short chain, making it so Steve couldn’t pull away more than a few inches. He couldn’t see anything past the wall, the endless white, but he could hear Bucky getting ready by the front door, doing up his shoes again, maybe pulling on a hat. Then the footsteps—  _ pat, pat, pat, pat—  _ and then he was kneeling by Steve’s side, and giving him a big, obnoxious kiss on the cheek.

  
  


—————————

  
  


 When Bucky came back inside, he left Steve in the corner as he took a call. Steve could only hear one side of it, but the just was clear. 

 “No Sam, now really isn’t a good time…  _ yes,  _ this is me officially canceling… no, I’m not— Sam, I— Hey! I don’t do that. No… no. No, tell them not to come. No, today is not convenient, I…” he went quiet for a long minute, and then sighed. “Fine. Seven. Whatever. Well, you have a strange way of showing it. Fine. Bye.”

_ Pat, pat, pat, pat.  _ “Okay Steve, here’s what’s going to happen.”  _ Oh, joy. Yes, please give me more orders.  _ “Sam and the others are coming over at 7 tonight and he won’t let me cancel. I’m not going to make you wear the ball gag for the entire day, but you will wear it when they come over. Until then, I am going to have you wear a panel gag, which will keep you quiet but not strain your jaw, alright?”

 He took off the chain while he talked, carefully pulling Steve away from the wall. When he pulled out the ball gag, Steve smacked his lips together, finally able to swallow some of the spit that’d started piling up. He knew he didn’t have long until the panel gag came on, so he quickly asked “Can I go outside until they get here?”

 Bucky hummed in consideration, already with the new gag in his hands, adjusting the length. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll let you go outside, but when I tell you to come in to get ready you will without problem. Then you’ll be obedient tonight, alright?”

 It was too much. The exchange was unfair; but then again, Bucky lost nothing by making Steve stay indoors. And Steve would have been at least moderately obedient anyways. 

 “Yes Master,” He said, hoping the name would make him go easier on him later. The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched up, and then he was adjusting the panel gag over Steve’s face. 

  Being outside with a gag on felt strange, but he did adjust to it after a few minutes. It was like having a scarf wrapped over his mouth—  _ tight _ over his mouth. He did some light climbing in the barn, but became out of breath easily. Eventually he settled down in one of the stalls, messing with the hay and seeing if he could weave it together. The results weren’t impressive, but they did let him waste some more time, and the creative part in his brain tingled, appreciating it. 

 When he left, it was just beginning to get dark, so Steve climbed onto the roof of the barn to watch the sunset from there. Steve wasn’t sure exactly how the different realms worked, or if he was on a different planet in space, with Earth millions of miles away, or if he was in some sort of alternate dimension. The planet was so similar to Earth in terms of the environment that it was possible that it  _ was  _ Earth, just an alternate version. Maybe it was Earth in the future? Somehow, Steve doubted that was the case. 

 “Steee-eeeve!” Bucky called from the direction of the house. Steve closed his eyes, trying to ignore it. “Stee-eeeve!”

 Finally, he slid down the side of the roof and climbed down the fence just as silently as he’d climbed up. Bucky was waiting for him with his arms crossed, but he exhaled a breath when he saw Steve, like he was relieved. Steve rolled his eyes; he’d told Bucky he’d come when called, and he was not one for going back on agreements. 

 The clothes this time were black pants with rectangular holes in the knees— thanks, you  _ dick _ — and a tight black shirt. There was another polygonal hole cut from the back of the shirt, revealing Steve’s claiming tattoo. 

 “Have you thought of any more tattoos?” Bucky practically whispered as he lead Steve to kneel by the couch. Steve made some random muffled noises, more to be annoying and remind Bucky that he literally couldn’t respond to the question, but to his surprise Bucky actually removed the gag so he could talk. 

 Steve worked his jaw, doing the same sort of motions as he had after the ball gag. “Not really. Why?”

 Bucky shrugged. “It’d look cool.”

 He was doing some sort of rope work that involved wrapping a bright red rope around Steve’s chest, which meant that he couldn’t see Steve’s eyes. Steve rolled them as far back as he could. 

 “You and your fucking aesthetic—”

 “Oh, now I remember why I gagged you,” Bucky interrupted, pulling on the rope a little to emphasize his point. “Fine, I think tattoos look cool. Sue me.”

 “Bite me.”

 “Have you ever thought about dying your hair black?”

 “Would you do me a favor and keep your emo fantasies away from me?”

 Bucky put the gag back in then, which resulted in Steve rolling his eyes again. Bucky caught it this time, but he just patted Steve on the cheek, like a slap but without any force. “So mean.”

 He finished the ropework in silence. This time, Steve’s arms weren’t straight behind his back but bent so his hands clasped his elbows. It put less strain on his shoulders than the other way, which was a relief. For the final touch, Bucky raised some sort of harness, but Steve wasn’t sure what for. One leg, maybe? It was too small for both. 

 But no, it wasn’t for his legs, but for his fucking face. The leather straps slipped over his head easily, tightening above his collar and around his head. It didn’t do anything— none of the straps even came close to obscuring his vision— but it did add a little more humiliation. Not that Bucky was doing it was the humiliation; he was doing it for the  _ aesthetic _ .

 “You look like you want to kill me,” Bucky whispered, crawling backwards to appreciate his work. Steve glared harder, and let out a garbled “I do.” Bucky must have understood it, because he shook his head.

 “I’m trying,” he promised. “I really am.”

 Steve let out another noise, this one whiney and groany. Bucky reached out, rubbing his clothed thigh reassuringly. “I’m sorry. Is there something you want? Tomorrow when we’re at the market I could get you another gift.”

 How did Steve ever think that this man would kill him? He’s pathetic. A big body, maybe, but a people pleaser. He isolated himself, but when Sam came calling he couldn’t turn him away. He punished Steve, but when Steve got annoyed about it he apologized. 

 What a mess of a human being. 

 There was a knock on the door, and Bucky went to get it. There would be no collecting coats and refilling wine tonight; Steve had been upgraded to a lap dog. Downgraded?

 His day was made so much worse when the door opened, and Steve realized that Sam had brought a slave with him. 

 Sam and Valkyrie came in first, their loudness and big personalities filling up the tiny home. They both insisted on giving Bucky cheek kisses, even though Bucky complained and made faces at them. Doctor Strange was nowhere in sight, but trailing behind Sam, unleashed, was a boy with curly light brown hair. He had a thin little cloth collar around his neck that actually looked comfortable, and was wearing simple, normal clothes with big black platform boots with half a dozen buckles on them. He had already taken off his rain jacket, which was bright yellow with huge cut out circles in it— which was completely redundant, because the holes would let in  _ all  _ of the rain. It was just as well, because it wasn’t even raining outside. 

 But the boy wore no leash. He wore no cuffs, no ropes, no shock collar—  _ nothing.  _ The only thing that designated him a slave was the collar and the slightly more revealing clothes— though they really didn’t reveal much at all— but besides that, it wasn’t obvious. His height also helped, as he was at least a foot shorter than Sam, but the biggest tell that he was a slave at all was his innocent and demure posture. 

 After the Real People talked— i.e., the ones who  _ weren’t  _ wearing collars— Sam pulled Oeter in front of him, smiling widely. “Bucky. You’ve already met Peter, my favorite.”

 “Peter,” Bucky said, in what was probably more than an appropriate enough greeting in his book. As soon as his friends had knocked on the door, Bucky’s face had gone gray and ashen, looking like he hadn’t slept at all the night before. It wasn’t exactly what Steve would expect from seeing his friends. 

 Peter greeted Steve in clumsy, slow Russian, and then kissed him twice on the cheek. Sam laughed about something, and Bucky looked generally uncomfortable but no more so than usual. 

 “Sir Barnes, can I meet your slave now? Sa— Master has told me all about him.”

 Bucky shrugged, and Sam answered for him, giving Peter a little look for the mess up but nothing dangerous. “Sure, but he probably won’t be very talkative. I think Steve’s all tied up right now.” 

 Oh, Sam was going to pay for that. As soon as Steve got out of his binds, he’d be stealing a Bucky’s gun and turning the city red, starting with Sam’s house. 

 Peter came over, kneeling in front of Steve playfully and introducing himself. Steve made eye contact with Bucky, trying his very best to convey the message of  _ who is this idiot and why are you letting him within a 5 mile radius of me.  _ Was this the kind of lap dog Bucky wanted him to be? Cute and ditsy and docile, so well trained he didn’t need to be watched, or leashed, or bound? The freedom was appealing, but Steve didn’t know if he could handle having it at the expense of pretending to be this stupid. 

 Sam told Peter that he should greet Steve properly, and before Steve could process what sort of horrors that might entail Peter was grabbing him by the face and giving him a big kiss on the cheek with an audible  _ Mwah!  _ Steve blinked hard, and Sam and Valkyrie laughed behind them. 

 Instead of the set up from last time, all of the food was laid on the table to begin with. There was no wine, but Bucky did go to the refrigerator and produce a massive jug of some cider-colored liquid for Valkyrie, who happily began the process of pouring herself glass after glass. 

 Bucky sat in the same spot as last time, though now he was even more separated from the others because of Doctor Strange’s absence. Valkyrie and Sam shared the other couch again too, but this time Peter was in between them. He draped his leg over Sam’s, making a silly face at him when Sam started tapping his foot against the floor, making Peter’s leg bounce up and down. Peter listened to the conversation, and answered questions when they were asked, but otherwise he was quiet, attentive and submissive in a way Steve could never be. As the time wore on, Peter got more and more cuddly with Sam, like all he wanted was to be close to him. Sam, for his part, wasn’t overly affectionate, happy to receive the loving stares and fond touches, but seldom giving much back. He gave Peter a few looks like he was almost hunger, but for the boy, not for food, and Peter responded with equally honey-moonish heart eyes. Only once did Sam give him any real affection, kissing him on the top of the head after he’d said something particularly complimentary about Sam. 

 Steve hated him. Oh, he hated him. This little twink, parading himself around like he’s Sam’s boyfriend instead of his slave, acting like he’s got a choice, like he  _ wants  _ to be here. He glances at Steve sometimes, when he thinks no one is watching, and even though Steve has never talked to him before, he knows exactly what Peter is doing: looking for marks. Steve is pretty sure he has none, except for a few little things from the farmwork, maybe. Peter’s eyes linger on a long scratch on his arm he got climbing the big tree, and then his attention snaps back to Sam so fast  _ Steve  _ almost gets whiplash, going right back into his flirting and playfulness. It is almost ten more minutes before he’s forgotten again, and his gaze goes back to Steve, looking at him with his face relaxed, but his eyes intense. Steve looks back at him, blinking calmly. What is he supposed to do? The situation speaks for itself. 

 Bucky gets closer to Steve without him realizing, and soon his leg is pressed against Steve’s side, his hand carding through Steve’s hair. It is not bad touch, but it’d be better without the gag, without the bound arms. 

 Before the others leave, Peter gives Steve a longer, lingering look, and a smirk. To anyone else, it might be flirty, but somehow Steve knows that it’s not; it’s prideful. Peter tips his head toward Sam, quirks his eyebrow, like  _ Are you sure you don’t want what I have?  _ Another move, gesturing to Steve, in his bondage and forced silence.  _ Or is that really better?  _

__ Steve bares his teeth the best that he can with the gag, and Peter turns away, asking Sam something. He gets permission and scurries back over to where Steve is, kissing him again, his hand stroking the underside of Steve’s jaw in pure affection, a gift, and then he’s pulling away. Doesn’t look at Steve again. Leaves. 

 When Bucky undoes Steve’s bondage, Steve doesn’t struggle. He doesn’t speak. He works his jaw, trying to get the soreness out, and wonders what exactly Peter had to do to get that level of freedom. Not only was he unbound, but he had spoken some Russian, which meant that  _ Sam was teaching him Russian.  _ Was that even allowed? 

 Steve would find out. He’d be so damn good that Bucky wouldn’t see the point in a leash anymore, and then he would seek out Peter. This boy, whether he knew it or not, was his escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a bit happened here. We’re finally getting a peek at Bucky's real motivations, plus some new thinking on Steve’s part. And, oh yes, PETER PARKER. It hasn’t been stated yet, but for the record Peter is 19-20. There were some people who had a problem with Sam's characterization because the felt his first two appearances were inconsistent, but remember, this story is told from Steve’s point of view, and people aren’t as easy to label as we want them to be. Regardless, I feel that actually seeing Peter and seeing them interact tied Sam's character together quite nice. 
> 
> And yes, this is the weird relationship I was alluding to earlier. This fic is more about the storyline that being accurate to the Marvel characters— if it was about the characters, I wouldn’t have chosen this pairing. But it’s an AU for a reason. Fight me. 
> 
> And yes, this was inspired by that one panel they did together with Sebastian Stan where Tom Holland was his lovely, affectionate self. We love our boys destroying toxic masculinity. 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts! Positivity is especially appreciated today— what parts do you like? I have but a tender heart, that can only take so much. Thanks for reading!


	10. The Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of some kinda graphic stuff in this chapter. If you're worried about triggers, look at end note.

 Steve was an absolute  _ angel  _ for the next week. 

 He was  _ so. Damn. Good.  _

__ He did all his chores; he didn’t argue with any of Bucky’s instructions; he didn’t complain about any of the outfits. In turn, Bucky relaxed like crazy. Steve didn’t realize how tense he’d been until he was practically melting into a puddle on the couch, asking Steve to grab him his tea and then sit with him. Steve was allowed on the couch when he was with Bucky, which was degrading, yes, but not as degrading as sitting on the floor. Steve doodles potential tattoo designs in his free time, and showed them to Bucky. 

 “I’ll have to narrow them down,” he announced, chewing on the end of one of the new pencils Bucky’s given him. He now had two pens, two charcoal pencils, a charcoal stub (that Bucky didn’t like him using because it made his fingers all black), and a set of five pencils. To Steve’s knowledge, Bucky still hadn’t looked in his notebook. 

 Bucky leaned over him, peering at the sketch on the page. “Why bother? You could just get them all tattooed.”

_ Yes, yes, we all know you’re so hardcore. Just get all the tattoos, you say. Dye your hair black, you say. Stretch your ears. Nothing matters anyways.  _

__ “Yeah, But I don’t think I want to be covered in tattoos. I need to start slow.”  _ If I start at all.  _

__ They continued the routine of going to the market every day, and after a few days of obedience Bucky allowed Steve to take over customer interactions. No chit chatting— not that anyone wanted to chit chat with a slave anyways— but Steve could help them pick out vegetables and keep tabs on the money. He still didn’t know how much one of the damn onions cost, except for “three medium coins” or “a big coin with two small coins change”. It was infuriating, but Steve forced himself to stay pleasant. 

 Steve was so damn obedient and so damn pleasant and so damn non-argumentative. He hardly spoke a word to Bucky because he had to try so hard to keep the mean thoughts in, but hey, Bucky said he needed a farm hand. Steve did that, and more. Bucky had absolutely zero reasons to complain. 

 After a full week of this shit, Bucky finally,  _ finally  _ decided that Steve was ready to go off leash. Steve almost sobbed in relief. There was a condition though: if Steve didn’t wear a leash, he had to wear the shock collar, and when the shock collar was stacked about the normal collar it restricted his neck movement just enough to be a menace. But still— no leash. It was glorious. 

 That next week, Steve kept working to be the perfect little slave, because even though he had no leash it didn’t mean he got to leave Bucky’s side. If anything, it made Bucky be even more watchful over him. Steve had to walk close behind Bucky when they were in the crowded streets, and Bucky sometimes grabbed his wrist or clothes to pull him along, making the lack of leash redundant. It was annoying as fuck, but Steve kept his mouth shut. 

 When they were at the market, hidden from the blazing sun under their foldable canopy, Steve could feel Bucky’s eyes on him constantly. He was never out of reach, never left alone, never told to go out and do errands. When Bucky did have to grab something from another stand, he either took Steve with him, or, more often, got the leash back out and chained Steve to the table like a dog. It was perfect. It was great. Steve loved it. 

 It was  _ fine.  _

__ They had to go to some event Bucky’s friend Tony was hosting, and Bucky freaked out the entire day before. When it was time to get dressed, Bucky provided Steve with tight, revealing clothes with a harness, ropes for his arms, and a panel gag. Steve managed to talk Bucky down from the gag, but he couldn’t convince him to get rid of the arm binds. Steve spent the entire party kneeling at Bucky’s feet, trying not to wince when Bucky became uncomfortable and started pulling too hard on his hair. After a few hours of this, Steve gave up and took a nap with his head against Bucky’s thigh. Bucky stopped pulling so much after that. 

 Steve got used to it. He got used to the shock collar. He got used to the plate checks. He got used to the long market hours. He persevered, because finally,  _ finally,  _ he had a reason to. 

 It all paid off somewhere in between the second and third week since Steve had met Peter. Bucky was blackmailed into going to a huge fundraiser event with Sam, and in attempt to cheer him up, Steve suggested they try one of the new special occasion outfits they’d gotten him. That was, in retrospect, a mistake. Steve ended up having to stay still for literal fucking hours as Bucky covered his chest in intricate knots and ropes, until a diamond pattern rose up his spinal column and Steve could already feel his nipples chafing. Bucky adjusted the ropes so that instead of chafing his nipples, they separated from around his nipples, exposing them to the world. What an improvement. 

 Steve was given a different collar for this event that Bucky reassured him was indeed electrified. Steve had only been shocked two other times besides the first, and he had no intentions to repeat the experience. 

 The outfit was completed with black pants, black armbands dotting up and down his arms, and to Steve’s horror, little black feather epaulettes added onto his shoulders. Bucky gave him a little bit of black eyeliner to smear around his eyes, which Steve used as sparingly as humanly possible. 

 Bucky really branched out of his comfort zone as well: instead of wearing the googles and mask, he ditched the goggles and smeared a bunch of black around his eyes, giving him a great murderous raccoon look. It was intense. 

It was a pussy move. 

 Steve knelt at Bucky’s feet for maybe half an hour, dressed up like a half-plucked raven and trying not to be too obvious with his scanning the crowd. It turned out he didn’t need to scan the crowd at all; Peter found him. 

 Peter was wearing... well, it may have been easier to describe what he  _ wasn’t  _ wearing. Underneath his huge platform boots he had on rainbow stockings that went all the way to his upper thighs, where they were attached to garters. The garters went up underneath his black short shorts. His shirt was bright pink, with what looked like homemade holes cut in it, and short enough that it would rise to expose his stomach if he lifted his arms. Peter, as usual, had no restraints, and wore just the little fashion collar around his neck. Steve wanted to slap him. 

 Peter was walking with Sam’s arm tightly around his waist, so he kept on tripping over Sam’s feet, but he just laughed and apologized every time he messed up. He wouldn’t mess up at all if Sam didn’t hold him so goddamn tight, but of course Peter wasn’t going to say that, and it’s not like Steve could, so Peter continued tripping. Sam dragged him over to talk to Bucky, and when Peter asked if he could steal Steve, Steve prayed more aggressively than ever before, giving Bucky the biggest, saddest puppy dog eyes he could. 

 Bucky leaned over, whispering in his ear “You want to?”

 “Yes Master. Please?”

 He considered, then leaned down again. “Okay. But stay with Peter. There’s security at every exit point, and the collar is long range, so don’t even try to escape.”

 Steve batted his eyes. “Why would I do that?”

 Bucky let him go, and Peter intertwined Steve’s hand with his like they were about to go to the freshman prom, breaking into a run and pulling Steve behind him. Peter was laughing, but Steve was definitely not. 

 When they got to one of the doorways to go into the rest of the building, Peter turned and blew a kiss towards Sam. He giggled, and then pulled Steve into the hall. 

 There was no one else around, which Steve was still checking when Peter turned to him and said, point blank, “Empty your fucking pockets.”

 Steve choked on his own spit. “ _ What?” _

__ “Just do it!” 

 Steve looked down at his clothes, more confused than he’d ever been in his entire life. “My shirt is literally made out of  _ rope _ —”

 Peter shoved him back against the wall and pinned him there while he shoved his hand into Steve’s pants pocket, turning it inside out. A single paper clip fell out. Steve was too slow, and only managed to shove Peter away after he’d upended his other pocket. “What the fuck?”

 Peter crouched on the ground, examining his finds. Steve’s other pocket had yielded one of Bucky’s hair elastics, a piece of tissue, and another paper clip, equaling out a whole fuckton of absolutely  _ nothing.  _

 Peter shoved the tissue back in Steve’s pocket, but kept the rest of his loot. He turned and started walking away. 

 “What the fuck?” Steve said again, because really, it needed to be said again. He hurried to catch up with Peter, the stupid platform boots giving Peter an unfair speed advantage. “Literally what is your problem, I—”

 “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the others,” Peter said over his shoulder. “Shuri could probably use the paper clips. The Doras get the type that is painted, you know? Bad for conducting electricity.” 

 Steve caught about half of the words Peter was saying. He needed to stop walking so damn fast. “The Doras?”

 “From the Dora Milaje tattoo studio? They did mine, and I know that they did yours too. They’re so high protocol when it comes to slaves, but then they finally get one of their own and now they’re all cutesy and lovie with her. Not that I blame them; Shuri’s a  _ genius.  _ If any of us ever end up creating some sort of death ray that kills everyone not wearing a collar, it’ll be her. She should be around here somewhere.”

 Steve grabbed Peter’s arm, forcing him to slow down. “A death ray that kills everyone not wearing a collar? You know that includes Sam, right?” 

 Peter blinked. “Yeah?  _ Oh,  _ yeah. Right. That’d be horrible. Can’t let that happen.” He winked and kept walking. 

 Things were finally starting to fit together in Steve’s mind. So, Peter wasn’t actually head over heels for Sam. Interesting. He’d fooled Steve, and apparently he’d tricked Sam too. 

 “He’s fine,” Peter continued, grabbing Steve’s hand and pulling him down another hallway. Their fingers laced together automatically. “He’s definitely my favorite master so far. It’s just, you know. He’ll get tired of me eventually. We have to have contingency plans. Otherwise I’ll be going on EBay to the highest bidder.”

 They turned down another hallway. Peter didn’t even have to think about it, he just knew that it was the right way. Steve wondered how many times he’d been here.

 “You’ve had other masters?” Steve asked, trying to absorb all the new information. The ropes shifted against his skin, not chafing, but also not the most comfortable thing in the world. The collar was a different texture than he was used to. The building was strange, the hallways going from narrow to wide to narrow again. Steve had to make himself focus to keep from getting over-sensitized again. 

 Peter nodded. He reached up with one arm and yanked down the shoulder of his shirt, exposing a few thick lines of text that had been tattooed over, leaving them looking like someone had taken one of those big sharpies to his skin and crossed out the pieces they didn’t like. There were two lines of text that weren’t crossed out, and even though Steve didn’t know exactly what they said, he was sure they proclaimed Peter as Sam Wilson’s property. The blacked out lines meant he’d had two other masters before Sam. 

 Peter fixed his shirt, and Steve had to speed up again to keep pace with him. Peter’s grip on his hand was loose, but comforting. Steve wasn’t going to complain. He may have been a little starved for physical contact. 

 “Why didn’t they work out?” Steve asked, still thinking about the covered over tattoos on Peter’s shoulder blade. It must have hurt to get them drawn over like that. 

 Peter shrugged. “The second one was a woman. She was alright, but she got bored after a few years.”

 “And the first one?”

 “Oh, I bit his dick off. Well— his friend’s dick. Long story, but basically, I had to wear a circle gag every time I went down on anyone for the next few months, because he was scared I was going to do it again. Eventually he got over it and got bored of the circle gag— you can only deepthroat with it, you know? No suction. It’s good, but it’s not  _ that  _ good. So anyways, we’re in the back of this car, right? And he decides he wants a blowjob. I try to get around it, because I’m really not feeling it, you know, but he doesn’t give a rats ass, so he pushed my head down. I take his cock in my mouth and then just— chomp. The first time my teeth didn’t go all the way through, but the second time it was a clean cut. Absolutely disgusting, I still get flashbacks. Don’t bite someone’s cock off, that’s my professional advice. The meeting room is right around that corner.”

 Steve’s head was reeling. “You… I… huh.” 

 Peter laughed. “Yeah. It sucked— no pun intended. I had to go to this training camp after that where I learned how to properly take dick, without, you know, biting them off. I also learned what Chinese Water Torture is, which was fun. Then I was sold again to a woman, which wasn’t bad, until she got bored of me. My retail value was getting really low by then, but then Sam bought me. The YouTube thing has made my value go back up, I think, which was reassuring because for a little while I wasn’t sure if Sam liked me very much. Then his favorite slave hung himself, so I stepped in and worked my way up to be his new favorite. We’ve got a good thing going now, though.”

 Steve swallowed. Peter looked like he was probably younger than him, and the way he talked about it he’d been on this planet for a long time. Steve stopped him from walking, putting a hand on his shoulder and trying to summon some realness after being fake for so long. “Hey. I’m sorry.” 

 That seemed to surprise him. “Huh? Oh, it’s fine, happens to all of us. What’s the worst thing Bucky’s done to you so far?”

 At the house, Peter had called him ‘Sir Barnes’. Apparently that sort of formality was only withstanding for as long as there were Real People around. 

 Steve didn’t have to think long to answer Peter’s answer. “He whipped my feet.” Really, the prolonged bondage was worse, but it seemed kind of pathetic to say out loud. 

 Peter nodded sympathetically. “That one sucks. The bruises take forever to heal because you just keep walking on them.” 

 Peter squeezed Steve’s hand and lead him into the room then. Steve honestly shouldn’t have been surprised to see a half dozen other slaves lounging around, all on the floor. The room must have been a conference room during the daytime, but the table and all of its chairs had been pushed against the far wall. 

 Steve did a quick glance around the room, checking out the other slaves. Everyone else was wearing weird clothes, but no one’s clothes were as weird as Steve’s. 

 “Peter!” A guy called out. “Is this the leatherface guy?”

 “Aww, they’re holding hands. How cute!” 

 Peter immediately went red and dropped Steve’s hand with a shy smile. Apparently the coyness act wasn’t  _ all  _ an act. 

 Steve raised an eyebrow. “Leatherface?”

 “Because when we met, remember, you had the leather straps all over your—”

 “My face,” Steve finished, feeling sufficiently red himself. “Got it.” 

 “His  _ name,”  _ Peter interjected, saving him from more humiliation, “Is Steve. And I already told you, he’s Barnes’. So no one do anything to him, otherwise you’re definitely going to get shot.”

 A few of them chuckled, but Steve widened his eyes. “Has he ever actually shot anyone?” It would be good to know if his fears were at least valid. 

 “Not that any of us have known about it,” one girl answered, standing and offering her hand. Her hair was curly and brown, and she wore a kind of stupid looking full-body sparkly teal leotard. “I’m MJ. One of Sam’s.”

 “One of… oh. Right.” Sam had six slaves, including Peter and now, MJ. “Nice to meet you.” 

 MJ smiled with her lips closed and shook his hand, then leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. It was a strange combination of the greetings from Heidrun and Midgard, but comforting nonetheless. “Same. Anyways, Sam usually only takes three of us to each event, in case, you know.”

 “Someone goes crazy,”

 “And hangs themself,” MJ finished for Peter. “Like last time.”

 A girl in the corner with her hair in cornrows raised her hands to the ceiling in mock ceremony. “ _ Pust’ spit! _ ” 

 “ _ Pust’ spit!”  _ The others repeated in various forms of sarcasm. 

 “That means ‘Let him sleep’ in Russian,” MJ explained. “Peter thought it was funny, and now it’s a meme.”

 “That’s how all the great memes start,” the cornrows girl claimed with revenance. 

 One girl with green skin sitting in the corner lifted her head, chewing on her thumbnail. “Guys. I told you it’s not funny.”

 “Oh, shit!” Cornrows girl said, dropping something she was tinkering with. “I thought you went back to the party Gamora!” 

 Peter bumped against Steve, pulling him further inside the room. “Gamora is still upset about Quill dying. They were close.” 

 “He was old,” a boy said, his voice slurred from alcohol and… something else. Or was that just an accent? He looked familiar. Steve blinked a few times and realized where he’d seen him before: he worked in the stand across the street from them. That stand was only there on Saturday’s, which is why Steve didn’t recognize him sooner. “Sam was getting tired of him. He was going to be sold, and no one would buy him to be a pleasure slave, so he’d have to do labor. He’d become a glorified janitor.” 

 Gamora looked up at him, glaring intensely. Even her lips were green, but the longer Steve stared at her, the less he noticed. People on this planet were weird; that was a fact he’d accepted long ago. “Oh, like that’d be such a downgrade from sex slave. You know what Pietro—”

 “Woah!” Peter interjected, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. “Come on guys, you know the rules. And Gamora, if you get in another fight—”

 “The world will keep turning,” Pietro interrupted with a snarl. “Come at me, wicked witch of the west. Try and catch me, I dare you.” 

 Gamora got to her feet and pulled out a wicked looking knife. “I accept your challenge—”

 “No you don’t!” Peter stepped in front of her, getting right in her face. He grabbed for the knife but she dodged, trying to get around him but clearly restraining herself from using the knife on him. “Gamora, it’s not worth it, he didn’t mean—”

 “ _ Pust’ spit!”  _ Pietro shouted to the ceiling. 

 “ _ Pust’ spit!”  _ The others echoed without a single beat of hesitation. Gamora stopped her foot and threw her knife, but at the wall, not at Pietro’s head. She stormed back to her corner, slumping into a sitting position. “This has literally been the worst year of my life.”

 “Which is saying something,” cornrow girl said cheerily, her eyes back on her project. It must be Shuri, Steve realized. 

 Gamora thumped her head back, then pulled it forwards, then thumped it against the wall again, flinching but repeating it anyways. Peter carefully pulled her away from the wall, cradling her head in his arms to keep her from hurting herself again. Gamora shook lightly, a few tears slipping past her closed eyelids. “First Quill, and then Val has to buy that  _ bitch—” _

__ “You still haven’t told us her name,” Peter prompted gently. 

 “I have!” Gamora protested. “It’s Bitch with a capital B. The Biggest Bitch of them all. She’s obnoxious; Val just likes her because she has bigger boobs than me.” Gamora looked down, cupping herself through her clothes and pouting. 

 “Everyone has bigger boobs than you,” Pietro complained. 

 “Shut it blondie!” Gamora snapped. 

 Pietro stood purposefully, stumbling only slightly from the alcohol. He marched up to Steve and poked him in the chest. “What are you looking at? Hmm, faggot?”

 Steve looked Pietro up and down. He couldn’t weigh much. He had a runner’s body, lean and tall, but that meant that he probably didn’t upper body strength.

 Steve threw a punch, but somehow, Peter managed to catch it, getting in between the two of them. “Hey! We don’t do that, alright?”

 “I’m not a faggot,” Steve spat, directing the comment at Pietro, who rolled his eyes. 

 “We’re  _ all  _ faggots,” Peter said, like it was stupid to think any different. “All slaves are, even the straight ones. It’s not even a mean thing here, it’s just a funny word.”

 “Aw, fuck,” someone said from the doorway. Steve looked over to find a blue… cyborg?... girl leaning against the frame. She walked over to Gamora, shaking her hand. “What it is this time, Quill or The Bitch?” 

 Gamora cried into the blue girl’s shoulder. “It’s  _ nothing,  _ I’m  _ fine.” _

__ “Oh, clearly. Who’s the new guy?” 

 All eyes turned to Steve. “It’s leatherface,” Pietro said before Steve could say his real name. 

 “Oh. Have you done the initiation yet?” 

 Shuri looked up so fast she dropped something. “No, can we?”

 “The initiation?” Steve questioned. It didn’t exactly sound hopeful. Steve thought back to a fraternity hazing scene from a movie he and Nat had watched. He didn’t know what hazing would look like for this group of people, who, from the sound of it, were almost all pleasure slaves. 

 Peter opened his mouth to explain, but before he could Pietro was wrapping an arm around Steve’s neck and holding him still as he pushed a finger in his mouth. Steve jerked in surprise, biting down. 

 Pietro pulled back and held his bitten finger up like it was holy. “Ah ha! The Peter Parker test has come back: negative!” 

 Steve shoved him away, looking at the others in confusion. “What’s..?”

 “It means you’re not a pleasure slave,” Shuri explained, grinning. “Because, you know. Pleasure slaves suck, not bite.”

 “Unless you’re Peter,” Pietro commented. 

 “Hey, that was one time!”

 “Twice,” MJ corrected. 

 “False,” Pietro interjected. “He bites  _ every  _ time he sucks dick, it just usually isn’t hard enough to draw blood. Usually.”

 Steve raised an eyebrow, still a little shaken. “What, are you speaking from experience?”

 He could feel everyone turning to look at him again. Pietro put his hands on his hips. “Clearly. Everyone in this room besides you has had sex with Peter.”

 Steve looked around, at Gamora, the weird blue girl by Gamora, MJ, Shuri, and Pietro. None of them were arguing. 

 “I only did it once,” Shuri said, sounding a little proud. “I hit it and I quit it. In my defense, I was told it was part of the initiation process.” 

 “It  _ is  _ part of the initiation process,” Pietro insisted. “That means it’s your turn, farm boy. Pants off, ass up. No lube, and no stretching; we die like men.”

 Steve was about to reply when there was a sharp shock to his neck. He flinched hard, his head jerking to the side, and the others looked at him with a mixture of worry and sympathy. The shock wasn’t the full shock from before, just a little sharp feeling, like static. “Well it’s a good thing I’m not a man then; apparently I’m a faggot. I gotta go, I think this is Bucky— I mean,  _ Master Barnes’  _ way of telling me to get my ass back to the party. Peter?”

 “Yeah, I got you.” Peter hurried up, grabbing Steve’s wrist. There was another sharp shock, and they broke into a sprint. 

 There were no more shocks after that, but Steve didn’t trust it. They stumbled to a stop by the entryway after having run the entire way back, and Peter turned to him, fussing with him and fixing Steve’s hair quickly. “Okay, okay, a cover story. What’s our cover story— wait, we didn’t do anything wrong this time, wow, good on us! Okay, come on, let’s go. We’re— good, good. Okay.” 

 Peter grabbed his hand and pulled him back into the room, leading him to the table where Sam was lounging and Bucky was sitting stiffly. Steve scowled at him, tired of being dragged everywhere, and picked up his speed to try and take the lead. Instead, Peter just took it as a cue to speedwalk side by side, which Steve was pretty sure looked absolutely ridiculous. 

 “Stevie,” Bucky said when they arrived at the table, black-smeared eyes wide. “We need to go.”

 Sam was much more relaxed, letting his eyes drift lazily to the boys’ clasped hands. “Oh, look at that. Did you boys do anything interesting?” 

 Peter looked at his feet and smiled, already back in his flirty persona. Steve was still shaken, too slow. “Huh? No. We need to go?” 

 “We need to go,” Bucky confirmed, standing stiffly. “Bye Sam.”

 “Bucky, you don’t have to—”

 “I said bye Sam.”

 Sam sighed, but apparently it wasn’t worth fighting. Peter gave Steve’s hand one last reassuring squeeze then let go, returning to his master. He climbed onto Sam’s lap, saying something that made Sam chuckle and pull him closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Peter talks with some detail about biting two people's dicks off. Mentions of suicide by hanging, but no detail is given beyond the fact that it happened.
> 
>  
> 
> This fucking chapter. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Do you like the interactions between the different slaves? What about Peter's backstory-- were you expecting that from his character? What parts made you laugh? Personally I'm a big fan of pietros "face down ass up no stretching no lube, we die like men" comment. 
> 
> For those of you keeping track:
> 
> Sam owns six slaves, including Peter, MJ, and Nebula. He used to also own Peter Quill but he ended up hanging himself.
> 
> Valkyrie owns two slaves, Gamora and The Bitch. All we know about The Bitch so far is that she is a girl, has bigger boobs than Gamora, and that she and Gamora hate each other. 
> 
> It wasnt mentioned, but Pietro is owned by Loki. 
> 
> And finally, Shuri is owned by the Doras, who never had slaves but were always super strict about protocol in their shop. But they arent strict with Shuri about protocol, because they adore her. Also not mentioned, but I just wanted to put it out there that Shuri is NOT a pleasure slave, she just helps with the shop.
> 
> Let me know what you thought!


	11. The Sickness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional TW in endnotes.

Steve woke up to find Bucky leaning over him, his huge eyes only inches from Steve's face. 

 Steve screeched, jolting hard and rolling over to get away. Bucky grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling him back without having to exert any effort. “You overslept. You're late with your chores.” 

 Steve is too busy listening to his heart beat in his head to fully comprehend what he'd just said. “I, what? No I didn’t, it’s still…” he stopped when he realized that it was light outside. “Shit.” 

 “Up and at ‘em,” Bucky commanded, patting Steve on the arm. “Try to be fast with your chores, we’re already going to be late. I’ll feed Fenris. Now come on, get going.”

 Steve rubbed his head, trying to force the headache away. He felt a little like he was hungover, even though he hadn’t draken in literal months. 

 He did his chores as quickly as he could, his body protesting all the way. The headache started as the worst part, but after a little time his stomach started demanding attention; probably just because of the late breakfast. 

 He knelt in the dirt, carding his fingers through the plants to get to the weeds. This section had already been mostly cleared of cucumbers, but he still had to weed. The green plants were lovely in the morning light, comforting and enticing. Steve looked around to make sure Bucky wasn’t watching, then plucked a leaf from one of the plants, feeling it in between his fingers. It was cool and smooth. Soft. Perfect. 

 There was the sound of running footsteps and Steve blinked his eyes open. He didn’t remember closing them. He was so comfortable— where was he? He was in the plants. He was laying on top of the cucumber plants and they were perfect and he wanted to go back to sleep. 

 “Steve!” 

 His eyes had closed again, damn them. Bucky was kneeling next to him now, shaking him. “Come on, get up. What happened?”

 Steve squeezed his eyes shut. His stomach was hurting more. “Fell.” 

 He didn’t fall, he fell asleep. But he wasn’t going to tell Bucky that. 

 “I don’t…” Steve puffed out an exhale. “I don’t feel great. Stomach.”

 “Come on, let's go inside. You can eat breakfast.” 

 Steve shook his head hard. “No. No breakfast.”

 Bucky was starting to get annoyed again. “Your stomach is probably only hurting because you’re hungry. Come on. Up. Now.”

 Steve hit him lightly on the arm and Bucky scooped him up, setting him down on his feet and supporting him until he could hold his own weight up. Bucky was talking again, but the focus Steve had to put into walking made it easy to tune him out. 

 Inside, Bucky rubbed his face in frustration. “We’re late. We still need to pick the vegetables and get dressed, and you didn’t even finish your chores. I just— okay, okay. Eat now. We’ll be fast.”

 Steve’s plate was on the counter, and just one look at it made Steve’s stomach turn. He crossed his arms, clutching them tightly to his chest. “No.” 

 “No?” It was a threat, Steve was pretty sure. Steve had been so good lately, it felt wrong to say the word  _ no,  _ but he really really didn’t want to eat. If he ate, he would probably throw up. “Sit down. I won’t ask again.”

 Steve went and sat down at his place by the counter, but didn’t uncross his arms. “Now eat.”

 “No. I don’t feel— I don’t want— I can’t.” He let his expression fall, pleading with him. “Please. I promise I’m not trying to be difficult.” 

 “Well you’re definitely doing a good job of it,” Bucky muttered. “Fine. I’ll eat; you get dressed.” 

 That was a surprise. “You’re… letting me choose?”

 “Yes. But only because we’re rushed; just pick something that you’ve already worn. I’ll chose the restraints for you.” 

 Steve just nodded, keeping his creative curses to himself. Bucky was annoyed at him enough already, no need to make it worse. 

 Steve got dressed in the most comfortable outfit he could think of, with a baggy long sleeved shirt tucked into tight shorts. He pulled a harness on over it, not sure if it was the exact one Bucky had initially used, but what did it matter? There was a strap on the hareness that was supposed to go tight around his waist, but he couldn’t bring himself to tighten it. His stomach was really giving him trouble now, hurting with a sharp and consistent pain, like there was one part in specific that was having trouble. 

The sun was glaring and painful by the time he got back outside. They rushed through the harvesting, but Steve knew that he didn’t do his best work. His work was slow and sloppy. 

 Bucky watched him out of the corner of his vision for almost the entire ride into town, but Steve didn’t care. Let him watch. Let him see. Steve was miserable; Bucky could suck his dick. 

 Steve was left in the car while Bucky unpacked, which was unusual, but again, Steve wasn’t going to complain. When Bucky retrieved him, he lead him gently by the collar to the chair were Bucky sat, laying down a blanket and instructing Steve to kneel on it. Steve was more than thankful that he didn’t have to sit on the hard ground, but he couldn’t bring himself to express it with anything more than obedience.  Bucky looked Steve’s hands together in front of him, and attached a leash to his collar, tying the opposite end around one of his own belt loops. Steve wasn’t leashed to the table, he was leashed to Bucky. Steve may have analyzed that further, except his brain was slowly turning to mush and there was nothing he could do about it. 

 Steve thumped his head against Bucky’s thigh, adjusting his positioning so he could rest his head fully on it. The petting that followed was appreciated more than Steve cared to admit. 

 “Well, well,” a voice said, causing Steve to glance up lazily. “It’s good to see that you’ve put the beast back on a leash. I worried.” 

 The man who was speaking had black hair cascading over his green-cloaked shoulders, his entire outfit decked out in leather and metal like armor, black and green and gold. At his side, dressed in similar shades of green, was Pietro, looking about as annoyed as always but significantly less drunk than he had the night before. His hands were bound harshly behind him, high up his back so his wrists could be chained to his collar. It couldn’t have been comfortable for his arms or his neck, but Pietro made it look like it was just a minor inconvenience. 

 Bucky didn’t respond to the black-haired man’s goading, but Pietro did, huffing. “Loki, you’re being obnoxious.” 

 Loki’s hand reached into his pocket, and a moment later Pietro was jerking, gritting his teeth to keep from cussing. Steve knew that jerk, and knew that look: Pietro had just been shocked. 

 “Forgive him; my  _ pet  _ hasn’t been fully house-trained yet. I fear that if it takes much longer, I may have to have him neutered.” 

 Pietro gave him a look so full of hatred, Steve thought his binds might snap so he could strangle Loki right there, right then. They didn’t. 

 Bucky still hadn’t said anything, and Steve doubted that he would. It was impossible to tell his expression underneath the mask and goggle combination, but Bucky’s flesh hand was wrapping slowly tighter around Steve’s leash, as if he intended to keep him directly where he was. Steve had no issues with that; he was comfortable. 

 “Yes, I’ll be buying three of these,” Loki said, picking out a few onions and offering them to Pietro, then sighing, like it was Pietro’s fault he didn’t have his hands available to carry the onions for him. “And, I wanted to give you a word of advice, Barnes. People are talking. They say that Wilson’s influence on you is to great; they fear your slave is not being adequately disciplined. I would be careful, if I were you.” 

 He paid, but Steve didn’t bother trying to figure out what with. He was too busy giving a Pietro the sad eyes. His master clearly was an asshole, and Pietro may have been mean, but he didn’t seem like an actually bad person. In return, Pietro gave him a worried expression. He was trying to ask Steve something with his eyes, but Steve was too tired to interpret it, so he just kept on cuddling against Bucky’s thigh until Pietro left. 

 He ended up falling asleep there, only being woken up for lunch. He managed to get a few bites down before it became too much, and he refused again. Bucky was annoyed, but put up less of a fight this time. Steve was finally winning, but he was too miserable to enjoy it.

 When it was time to go, Steve climbed back in the passenger seat of the truck and leaned against the door, ready to fall back asleep. As soon as Bucky say him, he was pulling Steve away, gently but firmly. “No. You’ve already slept the entire day away.”

 Steve whined, thumping his head on the dashboard. It wasn’t even all that uncomfortable. He felt his eyes closed, giving in again—

 “Steve!” 

 Steve was yanked back, momentarily struggling for breath from the force to his collar. Bucky’s eyes were obscured by his goggles, but his head tilt gave away that he was looking at Steve more analytically than before. “Are you sick?”

 No. No, Steve wasn’t. No. No, he didn’t want to be. He… couldn’t be. Right? Or… 

 He nodded weakly, refusing to look at him. “Stomach feels really bad. I

just need to sleep.”

 Bucky leaned over and undid Steve’s cuffs without another word, tossing them in the back. Steve rubbed his wrists subconsciously, putting a little more force into it to distract him. 

 To his surprise, Bucky leaned over and fastened his seatbelt for him. He pulled forward and they thundered down the road. Bucky didn’t object when Steve leant against the door, trying to make it look like he was looking out the window when in reality his eyes were falling shut again. 

 Steve was jerked awake, and he went into that hair trigger reaction that had been ingrained in him ever since his school days of pretending he hadn’t been doing anything bad. “I’m up!”

 “Clearly,” Bucky said dryly. He helped Steve out of the truck and then wrapped his metal arm around him, both supporting him and holding him upright. That was when Steve realized they weren’t at the farm, but in front of a large, sterile looking building. 

 “I don’t need a hospital, I’m just tired—”

 “Just shut up, alright?” The words weren’t threatening, for once. Instead they seemed desperate, tired, overworked and underappreciated. They caused two other voices to echo in Steve’s mind:

_ “I already told you, I’m fine. I just need to take a nap. I haven’t been sleeping great.” _

_  “Steve, you passed out.” Natasha’s voice, plain and straightforward. There was no winning in an argument against her, not that that stopped Steve from trying.  _

_  “I did not, I tripped!”  _

_  “Tripped and fell asleep halfway down.” Clint’s voice now, light and airy like he found the entire thing more funny than anything else. “Hey, it’s fine man. No one expects you to be indestructible.”  _

_  “Just let us take care of you,” Natasha agreed.  _

_  Steve opened his mouth to reply, but Clint cut him off. “Oh, I already know you’re going to say something stupid. Come up, shut up for once in your life, Rogers. Let us take you to the doctor.” _

_  Steve relented, but not gracefully. “Fine. But they’re just going to tell you that I’m fine.” _

_  “I’m. No harm checking, though.” _   
  


__ As it turned out, Steve was very much not fine. That was the trip where they found out about Steve’s heart issues. 

 Steve really hoped that wouldn’t be the case this time. 

 Bucky signed him in and they were told that for ‘unprecedented fatigue’ there was about a one hour wait. It was much better than the wait at an emergency room on Midgard, but it was still the first time they had to really wait. Steve thought back to the first doctor’s office, and the barbershop, both full of empty seats. 

They sat in the gross, stiff waiting chairs, and Bucky put his arm around the back of Steve’s protectively. Steve was considering trying to sleep again, when he felt his stomach lurch and he stiffened.  _ No, not here. Please no. Anything but that— _

__ “You okay?” Bucky murmured, one second before Steve leapt to his feet and bolted. He needed a toilet, a sink—

 “Fuck!” 

 A security guard grabbed for him, but he dodged, actually falling and rolling on the floor in his mad panic. He scrambled to his feet and took off again right before Bucky’s hand could clasp around his harness. Steve probably had about two seconds before Bucky shocked him through the collar, but there was another clock currently counting down in his mind that was much more pressing. 

 Too late. The toilets were too far. Steve fell to his knees and promptly committed into a trash can. 

 He could feel the tension on his harness, but Bucky didn’t pull him away, so Steve ignored it. His stomach lurched, and he vomited again, his body practically turning itself inside out. People liked to say things like ‘I vomited’, but that really wasn’t accurate; Steve didn’t vomit, his  _ body _ vomited, and Steve was just the victim to it. It stopped for a moment, and Steve gasped for breath, onto getting one before his stomach protested again and he lurched forwards, his head almost completely inside the trash can. 

 It couldn’t have taken more than thirty seconds, but it felt like longer. Steve’s head spun, his body still reeling from the violence it had inflicted upon itself. The taste was stuck in his mouth, but he couldn’t bring himself to spit. 

 His eyes fluttered closed, and he was pulled back by his harness before he could fall directly into his own throw up. Bucky pulled him back, wiping his mouth off with a tissue and commanding “Tongue out.” Steve obeyed automatically, letting his tongue hang out of his mouth like a dog in the heat, and Bucky wiped it clumsily with another tissue. “Get a Doctor,  _ now.  _ He just puked blood.” 

 Steve’s eyes rolled back in his head as he went limp against Bucky’s firm, reassuring form, and he couldn’t help but laugh. “Blood? That’s… ha! I’m… I’m  _ fucked,  _ aren’t I?”

 “You’ll be fine,” Bucky muttered, adjusting his position to support Steve better. He needed to; if Bucky wasn’t there, Steve would probably be already passed out on the floor— or worse, with his head in the garbage bin.

 They called Bucky’s name and Bucky scooped Steve up like he was nothing, letting him wrap his legs around his waist and his arms around his neck. The taste of vomit lingered, as did the smell. Steve let himself go limp again, groaning against Bucky’s leather-clad chest. 

 “‘M getting my puke on you,” he muttered. “Sorry.” 

 The next bit of time was blurry, because Steve kept falling asleep and missing pieces of it. He opened his eyes in a hospital room, then closed them, then opened them to stare up at the paneled ceiling, feeling his shorts being worked off him. Great, another person to see his stupid underwear. His only solace was that today he was wearing his less revealing ones: they fell low enough that they could almost be called boxer briefs. Almost. 

 Steve took comfort in that knowledge and passed right the fuck out again.

 When he woke up, he was sitting again. Bucky was no longer wearing the mask or goggles, and as soon as Steve saw him he slumped against him, groaning. “Everything hurts.”

 “Ineed you to focus. How many stomach ulcers have you had before?”

 Steve coughs. His throat feels raw, and he raises his hand to rub at it a little. 

 “Steve!” 

 He blinked back into awareness. “I’m here! I’m— awake.” 

 “How many stomach ulcers have you had before?”

 “None! Why are you yelling?”

 “Because you keep falling aslee—”

 Steve jerked upwards at the rough touch. Not Bucky, but a doctor. “Alright, I think it’s time we just let him sleep. He’s not useful in this state. Nurse, start the IV.”

 Steve tried to raise his hand to flip the doctor off, but he fell asleep before the motion was completed. 

———————-

  
  


 It was possible that Steve was actually in more pain when he woke up than when he fell asleep. 

 There was a mask over his face, making it so he could hear his own breathes. His insides felt a little bit like someone had mistaken him for a voodoo doll and stabbed him repeatedly. 

 It took a few long moments to finish his self assessment and regain the ability to move, and even then, he ended up sending another wave of  _ ow  _ across his entire body, starting at his stomach and flourishing outwards. 

 A little more effort, some grunting, and a sharp stabbing sensation later, Steve gave up on rolling to the side and just let his head lull that way. Bucky was sitting on a chair against the wall, like he was on sentry duty, except for one vital detail: he was asleep. 

 Steve took comfort in knowing that Bucky wouldn’t wake up no matter how hard he rolled his eyes, and laid back. 

 Bucky woke up when the nurse came in. This nurse was a man, the epitome of professionalism if you ignored his stretched ears. He didn’t say anything to Steve as he moved around him, messing with various tubes and monitors keeping him alive-ish. Steve was wearing a horrific hospital gown, except instead of the standard blue it was a lovely shade of cotton candy pink. Steve shifted, doing his best to wiggle his hips without moving his stomach, and yep, he wasn’t wearing underwear. Great. Perfect. 

 The nurse leaned over Steve and his vision was temporarily blocked by the nurse’s lime-green scrubs. Upon closer inspection, the stitching on it was done with golden thread in a very purposeful design. It was a good thing Steve couldn’t talk what with the breathing mask over his face, or he might have said something he would have regretted, like  _ “I’m so glad fashion is the number one priority in this hospital, but also literally what the fuck happened”.  _ Steve couldn’t really remember what it was that resulted in him getting gutted like a fish by some asshole with a scalpel fetish, but he was pretty sure that he’d messed up with protocol more than once along the way. While he had a very valid excuse for the lapse in manners, it also may not be wise to push it. 

 “How are you feeling,” Bucky asked, more a statement than a question. Steve rolled his eyes dramatically, hoping Bucky would write it off as a reaction to the nurse prodding at his IV. 

 “Fuck you,” Steve said into the breathing mask, which distorted the sound enough that it could be heard as “Okay”. 

 “They found a sore in your stomach,” Bucky explained as he pretended not to watch the nurse with a look of accusation on his face. “A peptic ulcer, or something. Internal bleeding. Performed surgery. It’s looking fine-ish so far.”

 “Yummy,” Steve replied, because what else was his supposed to say? It made sense. Also explained the brutalized voodoo doll feeling. 

 The nurse lifted up Steve’s gown to mess with some sort of sticker on his thigh, and definitely got an eyeful of Steve’s not-so-privates. Steve tried to slap him, only to find his hands were restrained to the side of the bed, the same types of things used on criminals that were injured in the act. 

 “Doctor?” Steve said, safe with his words garbled by the mask, “Excuse me, could I have a small dose of euthanasia? Yes, I would like to be put down now. Please bury me in the backyard with the other farm animals.” 

 “I don’t know what you’re saying, but I think it’s probably pretty mean,” Bucky guessed. 

 “Kiss my ass.” 

 The nurse moved away, giving Bucky the debrief in Russian as he carefully undid Steve’s mask. He had a feeling there might be indents left over from it, but he couldn’t bring his hands up to his face to feel. 

 Bucky nodded, silent, and the nurse left. 

 Steve worked his jaw, trying to weigh the merits of asking for something to drink versus just letting himself die of dehydration. Bucky made it easy by helping him with some water, but the plastic cup was too full and Steve’s throat hurt too much to swallow it all. He would’ve told Bucky, but he couldn’t speak through the attempted drowning, so he ended up jerking his head to the side and sending the cup flying. Bucky didn’t try to retrieve it, just watched it splatter water all over the floor and roll under the bed. He raised an eyebrow at Steve. 

 “Thanks,” Steve rasped. “But I’m not thirsty anymore.” 

 Bucky sighed and stepped forwards, raising his hand. Steve flinched hard, expecting a slap. Flinching was apparently at the top of the Fucking Ow List, and Steve sent a mental apology to his stomach. But Bucky didn’t slap him; instead, he just placed his finger on Steve’s nose, so light he almost wasn’t touching. 

 Steve tried to be patient, but he could only last about five seconds before demanding “Can I  _ help _ you?”

 Bucky didn’t move his finger. All of the nerve endings in Steve’s nose went  _ ushdhdhsndhcnshdbd.  _ “Does this bother you?”

 “A little, yeah.”

 Bucky didn’t move his finger. “A shame.”

 Steve waited, glaring up at Bucky in hopes that he’s back off. He didn’t, and Steve couldn’t swat him away with his hands attached to the sides of the bed as they were. “I’m going to kill someone if you don’t stop,” Steve finally snapped. “And it’ll probably be me.”

 “So aggressive,” Bucky said, almost teasing except his face literally did not betray a single emotion. Steve was pretty sure it was because they were in public, and Bucky didn’t have his mask on. “So rude. Why must you be this way?” 

 Steve finally gave up and jerked his head away, trying to bite Bucky’s finger. He did, but Bucky didn’t move away, just giving his another unimpressed look as he let his finger be bitten. “You didn’t think this through, did you?”

 Steve relented, allowing him his finger back. “No, not really. Just to clarify, was that nose thing just now actually my punishment?”

 Bucky avoided Steve’s gaze. “Well, it’s not like I’m going to punish you for getting sick.”

 Huh. Reasonable. Unexpected. Still…

 “What if I do something really bad?” Steve asked, trying to gage Bucky’s reaction. He’d gotten pretty good and reading the unreadable in the past few weeks. “What if I told you to shove your—”

 Bucky covered Steve’s mouth with his hand, muffling his words and waiting for Steve to finish before removing it. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”

 “I said it’d be great if you would fuck yourodhdmfndj mmmfffffndh ooofhdhd ommmxndbddb. Mmh!”

 Bucky laughed lightly, moving his hand away again. “You just said something nice and definitely not deserving of punishment, right?”

 “Yes Master,” Steve said, his voice a little too sweet. He batted his eyelashes. 

 Bucky laughed again, giving him the smallest perceptual pinch possible on his arm. Steve hadn’t heard him laugh very often, but it was a nice sound, and a better look. You couldn’t keep a flat expression when laughing, even if it the laughter was nearly silent like Bucky’s was. 

 The rest of the time in the hospital was spent relatively blandly. Bucky played nurse, giving Steve sips of water and alerting the doctors when something was amiss. Steve would’ve been bored, but he’d gotten used to passing long hours with minimal entertainment. He observed the hospital for as long as he could manage before finally allowing himself to fall into a daydream. 

 This one, like most of his daydreams, was about Natasha. Steve and Clint were definitely close, but Natasha had been his best friend even before his mom had died. He’d moved in with her for a little while after that, and she’d taken care of him and kept him alive even as he spent every day trying to suffocate himself in his sheets, or refusing to eat. 

 Bucky had explained to Steve that his stomach ulcer was what caused the lack in appetite and extreme fatigue, which was made worse by stress. Apparently, there was evidence in Steve’s stomach that he’d had other, less severe ulcers, that Steve had never known about. It was possible that he’d had one after his mom died. It explained why he felt so damn horrible all the time. 

 Eventually, Natasha managed to drag him to therapy. Steve worked out some issues and finally ended his grieving. He and Natasha lived together for a few more months before Steve moved out. It turned out that while they were great friends, they were horrific roommates. 

 It had been… Steve couldn’t even remember how long since he was kidnapped. Natasha and Clint had probably grieved. People who were taken like Steve was never came back, though people sometimes got evidence of them being alive. Letters. Emails. Never with much detail, and never with photos. Just  _ I’m gone, I’m not coming back, I love you.  _ Steve wondered what they had to do to get those communication privileges, how many  _ yes Master _ ’s they had to say. 

 So Natasha and Clint probably knew he was alive, but that he was as good as gone. He hoped that they were fine, now. Hoped that they’d gone to each other to deal with it. They were sweet on each other, at one point, though neither of them were willing to admit it. Clint had his esteem issues, and Nat had her… other issues. She’d confided in Steve once, that she was afraid to have sex. She had bad experiences in her childhood, and it made her opposed to doing anything more than kissing, and not even that, sometimes. It was part of the reason she had a revolving door of dates; she wanted the affection, but the men she was with wanted the physicality too, which she refused to give them. 

 Clint wouldn’t be like that. That, Steve was sure about. He’d give her all of the affection in the world, and demand nothing in return. 

 Steve really hoped that they’d found each other in his absence. 

——————————

  
  


 The process of getting him out of the hospital and back to the house was painful and took far too long for comfort. But finally he was back in his bed, being gracelessly tucked in by Bucky Trying His Best Barnes. He’d been in the hospital for a few days but still felt like shit, and even though his stomach was still healing he’d been taken off the IV. Bucky was supposed to make sure he had lots of liquids, and feed him a mixture of easily digestible foods and special shakes until he got better. 

 “We have an outpatient facility, if you’d be interested,” The secretary had said when they were being checked out. He was balding, and lacked the style that most people on this strange planet possessed. “It’s the ideal environment for slaves to heal in. Good for runners, too. Constant monitoring, comfortable restraints, and we take care of all of the annoying parts of healing so you don’t have to. You’ll be able to put him back to work in no time.”

 Bucky had denied it without taking a single moment to consider. It was nice knowing that, despite everything, Steve had an ally. 

 There were no restraints on the car journey, not even the collar, which had been taken off with the rest of Steve’s clothes. When Steve got back to the house and was settled in his bed, Bucky went in and out of the room as he pleased, never locking it. It was the ideal time to escape. 

 The only problem? Steve felt like absolute shit, and if he tried to make it any further than the bathroom on his own, he’d probably curl up in a ball and die. 

 Days passed, with Steve healing painfully slowly. Bucky did all of the chores and loaded up the truck with the harvest each morning, but he was only gone for less than an hour. When he came back, the truck bed was completely empty. 

 Bucky pulled a chair into Steve’s room on the second day of bed rest, and did his reading there. Steve should have minded more. 

 “Can I have a book?” He asked on the third day, just as he was sure he was going to go crazy with boredom. 

 Bucky looked up at him, surprised. “Sure. I’ll grab you my favorite one.”

 Steve hadn’t read in… ages. Years. Decades. Centuries. When he was given the book, he grabbed it, tearing it open like it was candy and all he had to do was take off the chapter. 

 The first page read: Хроники иллюзий: что такое диссоциация и как с ней справляться.

 Steve’s heart fell. He looked up to find Bucky hiding a big smile behind his own book, also in Russian. 

 It was a lot of “Yes Master”s and “No Master”s that day, but not much else. He and Bucky had gotten into a habit of talking, but Steve ignored every attempt he made, the betrayal thick and intrusive, like peanut butter sticking to the roof of his mouth. 

 The next day, Bucky came back from the market late. He tossed a book on the bed beside Steve. “English books are expensive as fuck,” he declared, plopping down in his chair. “You’re welcome.” 

 The book was an English copy of something called  _ The End Of The Line,  _ and Steve read it greedily. By the quarter mark it became clear that the entire story was pure and utter propaganda, about a girl running away from her responsibilities only to learn that she craved submission, and returning to plead for forgiveness. Steve didn’t care. He consumed it so hungrily he practically drooled on the pages. 

 He finished in a day, and unfortunately, when Bucky returned from the market the next day he bore no new gifts. It was fine. Steve reread the book. 

 The next day he was beginning to get antsy. It had been over a week of sickness, at that point, and Steve had already been invalid for too long. He tried going to the living room and washes the floors when Bucky was gone, just to feel some sort of purpose, but the pain was too much. He pushed on anyways, but when Bucky found him he reprimanded him and helped him back to his bed, where Steve promptly passed out. 

 That night Steve had dreams about the other slaves. In them, they were all forming an elaborate plan to escape, but Steve didn’t know about it, so when the plan started Steve kept on messing them up. They ended up getting away anyways, but they left Steve behind. The sense of abandonment Steve felt was illproportioned to the time they had actually spent together, but the emotional part of his brain didn’t seem to care. He was lonely, and they were the only people that had even remotely understood him ever since he’d arrived here.

 So, when Bucky was getting ready to go, Steve gave him his biggest puppy dog eyes yet ad asked if he could watch some of Peter’s videos. Bucky was hesitant, but after messing around on his phone for a few minutes he gave it to Steve, already opened to the video page and with the parental controls on all the way. All Steve could use the phone for was the videos, but he didn’t mind. That’s all he’d wanted anyways. 

 Bucky left, and Steve scrolled through the videos. The titles were varied, but all of them were click-baity and paired with an over-edited thumbnail. Steve looked at the Popular Uploads page, and scrolled through them, reading the titles mentally: 

**Miles’ Birthday!**

**Daily Blog #462: PETER DID WHAT??**

**Rocking Twink Takes Entire Fist Up His Ass**

**Daily Blog #244: I GET MY 6TH SLAVE!!**

**Why I Teach My Slaves To Read**

**Slave Training 101: The Ins And Outs Of Prolonged Isolation**

**COMPILATION OF BEST NEBULA MOMENTS**

**Slave Christmas Orgy! NO MASTERS ALLOWED!!!!!!!!**

**Daily Blog #718: Peter Graduates Past The Electric Collar!! (+ Roleplay Scene at End!!!)**

Steve felt a little sick. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but really, this was exactly what he  _ should _ have expected. It was a mixture of Daily Blogs and porn, as promised. 

 He watched one of the daily blogs that didn't have an offensive title or thumbnail, laying on his side with his cheek mashed against the pillow. 

 It started with MJ giving a quiet but excited introduction. She was more smiley than she'd been in real life, and Steve was reminded of Peter's different personas for when he was around the other slaves versus when he was around Sam. MJ was apparently the first one up, tasked with the job of waking up the others. They ate quickly together, and Peter grinned at the camera through a spoonful of something grey and slimy. The camera changed hands, following one of the other boys as started his chores. Sam's house had been referred to as a mansion before, and it wasn’t inaccurate. The place was huge and confusing as hell, made even bigger when the slaves went around and opened all of the doors and windows, airing it out. There were big gardens and patios, and the boy holding the camera went out to one to start caring for it. “If you're a long time viewer, you probably know that we change jobs once a month, which is good, because I'm horrible at gardening. I'd take dishes over this any day-- but you have to admit, the view is pretty great.” He lifted the camera to show off the sky, the sun having barely risen, casting soft light over the garden. 

 There was a jumpcut to later in the morning. The camera had switched hands again, and the camera-person held it still, showing the chaos. Well, it wasn’t chaos, exactly, more like a well oiled machine working so fast that something bad was guaranteed to happen, except nothing did. Sam was awake, sitting at the table and manspreading obnoxiously as the slaves rushed around him, bring food and finishing cleaning the kitchen. Sam still seemed half asleep, but he did a quick inventory, calling each slave by name and having them come over, give him a quick peck on the lips, and report that they'd finished their chores. He waved them away afterwards, calling on the next one, until Peter was the final one. Peter was apparently the one filming, because he set the camera down on the counter and scurried over. After his report, instead of hurrying off, he climbed onto Sam's lap without hesitation. He started saying something, but Steve missed it, skipping ahead. It was one thing to hear them talking about their lives as pleasure slaves, but it was another thing to see it, even if that part didn't include any actual sex. 

 The rest of the vlog was more of the same. They went about their duties, and while one slave accompanied Sam to the market, the others stayed at home, continuing to film. This part of the video was more playful, and though the personas didn’t drop, the protocol did relax. There was one part of the video where Peter stole something of Nebula's and ran throughout the house as she chased him, threatening his life as he laughed maniacally. The laughter was real, Steve was sure. It made him smile. Peter’s laugh was infectious. 

 “What'd you think of the videos?” Bucky asked when he came back, going through the whole process of unbuckling his leather jacket. 

 Steve shrugged. “They were interesting. It's good to see some of the others, especially Peter.” 

 Bucky nodded. “You jealous?”

 “God no. Being around other… people like me everyday would be nice, but it’s just… so much sex. I'd hate it.”

 Bucky snorted. “Yeah. I was kind of… horrified when I first met Sam. It was right after I came here, and I was still adjusting to everything--”

 “After you came here?” Steve interupted. “Like, you didn’t always live on this planet?” 

 Bucky gave him a weird look. “No, I thought that was obvious. I used to live on-- well, it doesn’t matter. But Sam was the first friend I made. His lifestyle takes some adjusting to. I've learned not to go to his house without calling first.”

 Steve scoffed. “Yeah, I'm sure that's a big problem for you, being a social butterfly and all.” 

 Bucky shoved at him playfully, trying to hide his smile. “I'm going to gag you so you’ll stop making so many smart-ass comments.” 

 Steve was pretty sure he was joking, but he proceeded with caution anyways. He pouted. “But I thought you liked my smart-ass comments?”

  Bucky grinned. “I do, but don't tell anyone. If anyone asks, tell them I'm really mean and you get in trouble whenever you talk out of turn.” 

 “Yes sir,” Steve teased with a mock salute. 

  
  


\-------------------

  
  


 Steve was allowed back into normal life slowly, which was yet another thing that he was appreciative of Bucky for. 

 Kneeling to tend to the crops or clean the floors still hurt too much, so Steve was given alternate jobs instead. Bucky didn’t give him any chores that included going outside, so Steve didn’t have to worry about running from the animals. Which was good, because he couldn't run at the moment.

 Instead, Steve started making all the meals, with Bucky's large portions of real person food, and Steve's six meals a day of easily-digestable sludge. 

 One day, after Steve was no longer a complete invalid, Bucky came in from doing chores and ordered “Shirt off.” 

 Steve huffed instinctually, but carefully lifted his shirt up. It took some maneuvering to do it without raising his arms too high, but he managed.

 Bucky knelt in front of him, and even though Steve didn't think Bucky had any sexual intentions with him, he still shuddered when his flesh hand brushed against his navel.

 “The doctor says the scar should heal completely,” Bucky murmured, and Steve tried to think about anything than the metal hand clamped on his hip. Bucky brushed his thumb against the bottom of Steve's flared rib cage, which protruded a little more than it used to. “I'm going to call her and ask how long until you can eat solid foods again. All of our good progress is gone.” 

 “Well shucks,” Steve muttered, more focused on the hands on his bare skin than what he was saying. Bucky was not a physically affectionate person, and Steve hadn’t left the house in weeks. He needed to talk to Bucky about isolation again.

 Bucky helped him pull his shirt back on and leant down, giving him a little kiss on the forehead. Steve grunted when he pulled away, upset that he felt so touch-starved and that Bucky wasn’t giving him the touch he wanted. 

 “Is everything fine?” Bucky asked, looking Steve up and down analytically. 

 Steve coughed. “Yeah. It's nothing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for mentions of sickness/vomiting. 
> 
>  
> 
> Yay, an extra long chapter! I have officially been writing this story for just over a week (I came up with the entire concept/started writing on Saturday the 8th) and it is now over 40k words, so about the half the length of a full book. To put that in even more context, for Nanowrimo (the annual novel-writing event where a person takes the month of November to try to write a book), the goal word count is 50k, which averages out to about 1.6k words a day. In the past week, I’ve been writing an average of 6k words a day. And going to school. And studying for finals. And writing other stories! 
> 
> So, exciting. But anyways, I did want to tell you guys that the psiting schedule may get a little weird from now on, as I do have other commitments/stories to write. The breaks in between chapters should never get too long, though, and I already have most of the next chapter written. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think so we can continue with the interactive story experience! How did you feel about the dynamic in this chapter, and about the video thing at the end? What are you hoping for in future chapters? Let me know!


	12. The Incident Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly more explicit chapter coming up (but no actual sex).

 Steve was excited to see the other slaves, but his excitement was dimmed a little when he found out what he was going to be wearing.

 Bucky had the clothes-- or lack thereof-- set out on the bed. “Lay down,” he commanded, busying himself with a length of black ribbon. “Pants and underwear off.”   

 Steve whined lowly, and Bucky kicked him lightly on the shin. “On a scale of 1 to 10, how obedient are you planning on being tonight?”

 “Negative 2,” Steve answered automatically.

 Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

 “No. Like… an 8. But less if I have to wear that. Where are the pants?”

 “Its fashion,” Bucky said, as though that was the obvious answer. “And I gave you an order.”

 Steve started stripping down, dropping his pants and then underwear with an air of distaste. He laid down on the bed, pulling his shirt down to cover himself.

 Bucky walked around to the side of the bed, taking Steve's hands (including the one he'd been using to cover his modesty) and cuffing them to the headboard. Steve

 Bucky started methodically wrapping the ribbon around Steve's leg so it criss crossed over itself. When he got to the top, he got scarily close to touching Steve's barely covered penis before bringing it up and looping it around his waist, and going down his other leg. When it was tied, he held up a little black piece of fabric. “You're not going to like this.”

 “Encouraging,” Steve muttered. He didn’t think it could be that bad, but his heart still sped up regardless. He pulled against the cuffs experimentally.

 Bucky spread his legs, and Steve hit his head back against the pillow. He could handle this. He could--

 Bucky touched his penis and Steve bit his lip hard, scrunching up his face. Bucky didn’t hold on though, just maneuvered it into the cloth. There were a few other straps, some light ball-fondling (at which point Steve grabbed onto the chain of the handcuffs and held on for dear life), and then he let go. Bucky attached a cloth belt around his hips. He took ahold of the cloth contraption around Steve's dick and pull it back, effectively tucking it and his balls in between his legs and out of the way. He attached the contraption to the belt with a little piece of fabric that quite literally went up Steve's ass crack.

 Bucky sat back, looking over his work. At the same time, Steve sat up, trying to see what he'd done.

 “It's called a cock sleeve,” Bucky explained. “How does it feel?”

 “It's not bad but I definitely feel like I want to die a little bit.”

 Bucky nodded, only half hearing him. “It's supposed to keep you tucked, so there's no bulge. Alright, let's keep going.”

 Steve didn’t particularly want to keep going, but he'd already been fondled, so really, what point was there in fighting. Bucky pulled a pair of-- okay, Steve was tired of lying, they were most definitely panties-- and adjusted it over his hips, making sure the contraption beneath it was still comfortable. The panties were thin and tight, and already Steve could see any remnants of a bulge being smoothed over. The panties also went over the ribbon work, keeping it all in place.

 Finally Bucky undid the cuffs and helped Steve to his feet. It was definitely weird standing with his genitals tucked so firmly in between his legs, but at least it wasn’t painful.

 Bucky took his shirt off for him and then took one of the objects off of the bed. It was a body suit, sort of like an undershirt but connected at the bottom, like a girl's one piece swimsuit. It was black (obviously), and the material was comfortable and form fitting as Bucky slid it up his legs and adjusted the straps on his shoulders.

 There was only one piece of clothing left, and it wasn’t pants. It was a mesh shirt, a little shorter than needed but baggy. One Steve had it on, the outfit was complete.

 “It looks like I'm wearing panties,” Steve said when he looked in the mirror.

 “You are wearing panties.”

 “No, it looks like I'm literally _just_ wearing panties. Isn’t there a pair of shorts, or something…”

 “Nope. We're making a statement.”

 “Is the statement ‘hey, look at Steve's ass’?”

 Bucky chuckled. He held up a collar and Steve obediently tilted his chin, letting him wrap the collar around his neck. It was comfortable, only about an inch thick, and soft on the inside. Steve hummed in appreciation and Bucky grabbed onto one of the loops, using it to turn his head side to side. “Like it?”

 “It's not complete shit,” Steve agreed.

 Bucky gave him shoes and then bound his hands behind his back, hands to elbows again, and attached a leash. “I thought we'd graduated past this,” Steve whined.

 “It's only for the beginning,” Bucky promised. “Your collar? It's not electric. So I'm going to keep you leashed while we get there, and then if I think you'll be obediant enough, I'll take you off.”

 “And unbind my arms?” Steve asked hopefully.

 “‘Course. I can’t have you leave my sight with your arms still bound.”

 Steve tried not to sigh with relief. He’d been really worried that Bucky might change his mind and go to the party, but not let Steve leave his side to visit the other slaves. Luckily, it seemed like that wouldn't be the case.

 The party was at someone important's house. Steve walked with his head as high as possible, despite the ribbon on his legs, the revealing nature of the bodysuit, and the unfortunate positioning of his bits. He noted a few of Bucky's friends milling around, but Bucky just made a beeline for a couch. Once he was sitting, he pulled Steve to kneel between his legs, carding his fingers through his hair nervously. Steve had gotten it cut recently, leaving it even longer on the top and shorter on the sides than before. His head moved with the motions of Bucky's hand, and Steve leaned his cheek against Bucky's inner thigh, letting his thoughts wander. He officially was a slut for Bucky playing with his hair, and as such needed to find more excuses to have Bucky do so.

 Valkyrie came over after a few minutes and sat next to Bucky, leaning over to scratch Steve under the chin. Steve would have been more upset at the dehumanizing if it didn’t feel so good.

 It took him a few minutes to realize that Valkyrie hadn't come alone. Gamora was kneeling by her feet, though she was completely unrestrained, the metal collar at her neck thin and discreet. She raised her eyebrows at Steve when he finally caught her gaze, leaning his chin on Bucky's thigh to do so. Bucky adjusted his legs, closing them somewhat and trapping Steve there, though Steve really didn’t mind.

 Steve closed his eyes as Bucky removed the arm bindings, rubbing them and then placing them at Steve's side, like he was giving them back. Steve put his hands in his lap submissively.

 It took awhile for there to be a lull in the conversation, but as soon as there was Gamora spoke up, asking “Can I go to the community room now, Mistress?”

 Valkyrie ran a hand through her hair obsessively, then relented. “Mmm. Yes. You should bring Steve with you.” She looked at Bucky, waiting for his ruling.

 At that point in the night, Steve had already forgotten his mission. He would have been happy to stay in between Bucky's legs all night, letting his hair get pet and his chin get scratched. He was warm, he had multiple points of contact, and the fact that Bucky's legs obscured his semi-stupid outfit was just a bonus.

 But still, he'd been so insistent on coming to the party for a reason. So he looked up at Bucky, waiting for his response.

 “But I'm comfy,” Bucky muttered, voicing Steve's thoughts. He leaned over regardless and unclasped the leash, releasing his hold on Steve and letting him get up. Steve grunted, but did so, his legs like those of baby deer. Gamora looked at his bare legs for a few long seconds, but didn't say anything.

 They walked side by side to the community room. People looked, but they didn’t just look at Steve. Gamora was dressed up too-- granted, not as exposed, but her shoulders were bare as usual and there was a tight stretch harness over chest, purposefully designed to emphasize her breasts.

 With a burst of newfound confidence, Steve strode into the community and announced to the other slaves “No one say a word. I know I look stupid.”

 The others looked up, half bored and the other half intrigued. Pietro was the first to say anything.

 “Where's your penis?”

 “You don't want to know,” Steve said automatically, walking further into the room. There was a mass of pillows and blankets in the corner that Shuri was laying on, but the others were spread out around the room. It wasn't exactly the orgy the masters expected.

 Steve flopped down next to Shuri, tilting his head towards her with a small smile. She got up on her elbows, looking at him with intrigue. “Hey, colonizer. Where have you been all this time?”

 Steve pouted, strung out and sickeningly playful. “I'm not a colonizer. If anything, I'm the one being colonized here.”

 “Ha! Like a spore of mold!”

 “Actually though, where were you?” Peter asked, coming closer to sit by them. “We were worried, especially Pietro. He said--”

 “I wasn’t worried,” Pietro amended quickly. “I don’t give a shit about any of you.”

 Steve was sure than was about 100% false. Peter ignore the interupted, pushing on. “He said that the last time he saw you, you looked really bad, and was on the leash again when you hadn't been on it in a while. He guessed that you got in trouble and Barnes was starving you, but we all freaked a little bit when you just disappeared. What happened?”

 Even though he didn’t normally like it, today his heart warmed at the worry. He'd been thinking about the others and missing them a lot, and felt ridiculous for it. They'd only really met once, after all. But to hear that they were thinking of him too?

 Their little group was close knit and hewn through struggle and survival. And they were making room in their world for Steve, almost without question.

 “He wouldn't starve me,” Steve said mildly, thinking back to all the days of holding up his cleared plates for inspection. “I got sick. I had a stomach ulcer that popped, or something? I don’t know, the doctor only spoke Russian around me. But I had to get surgery, and then it took forever and a half to recover.”

 The others nodded, but out of the corner of Steve’s eye he say Pietro let out a sigh of relief. Yeah, he clearly cared more about them than he was willing to let on.

 Steve shrugged. “Have I missed anything?”

 Gamora bit her thumbnail, chewing on it without much emotion. “I stabbed The Bitch.”

 Steve blinked. “Oh?” Was this normal? How was he supposed to react?

 “Yeah. She healed quickly, and then a few nights ago she tried to suffocate me, so she’s on punishment now.”

 “What’s her punishment?”

 Gamora looked away, her skin turning a slightly ashen shade of its normal green. Steve swallowed. “Oh.”

 “In other, less violent news,” Peter interrupted, carefully bringing the energy of the room back up, “Sam finished remodeling Quill’s old room—”

 Steve knew this game! Whenever Quill was mentioned, they did that chant thing. “Pussy spit!” He yelled.

 Peter stopped, giving Steve a weird look. No one repeated the incantation. “What?”

 “Did you just—” Pietro started, but covered his mouth before he could finish. “Oh my _God.”_

 Steve felt himself go pink. “What? Isn’t that— that’s what you say, right? When someone mentions Quill?”

 Peter choked on his own saliva. “You mean… _Pust’ spit?”_

 “Yeah, that. I was close!”

 “Pussy spit!” Pietro yelled.

 “Pussy spit!” The others repeated.

 Gamora hid her head in her hands. “Oh my God, this is so much worse.”

 “We only do the chant when Gamora’s not here,” Shuri explained. “But, for the record, Pussy Spit is almost funnier than _Pust’ spit._ ”

 “Please forget everything I just said.”

 “We’re never letting you live this down.”

 Steve hid his face in his hands and groaned.

 They talked for a little bit longer, all careful to avoid certain topics. They bitched mostly, which made a happy little shiver go down Steve’s spine. Natasha hadn’t been a very big gossip, but Clint was. He was the biggest, baddest bitch of them all, the grossest gossip in all of the ghettos. It was incredibly endearing.

 Eventually, Peter stopped being as much a part of the conversation, looking uncomfortable. Steve didn’t draw attention to it for a while, afraid it was another sex thing that he didn’t know about, but the more he watched the less he thought that was it.

 Pietro was the first to snap. “Peter, you’re doing that thing again.”

 “Am not!”

 “What thing?” Steve questioned.

 Peter didn’t hear him, too busy talking at Pietro. “For the record, I’m not actually as much of a slut as you guys make me out to be. I hadn’t even had sex before coming to this planet!”

 Pietro leaned back, sighing dramatically. “Great. Yes, tell us your sob story one more time, why don’t you? Maybe this time I’ll enjoy it.”

 “You know who you sound like?” Peter snapped. “Loki.”

 Pietro gasped, still mocking him. “Take that back, you little whore!”

 Peter kicked him lightly on the leg and Pietro responded with a kick of his own, getting up and tackling him. They roughhoused, shoving and pinching and kneeling each other without much force, going for speed over actual violence. Steve sat up to watch, taking the cue from the others not to get in the middle of it. He’d been aching for a good fight for months, but this wasn’t a real fight.

 Finally, Peter kicked Pietro off, scowling at him, though the scowl wasn’t quite genuine. “You’re an asshole.”

 “And you, my friend, are a slut. Go on, tell everybody.”

 Peter rolled his eyes. “Sam wants me to make another video. He says that these ones always get the most views.”

 Steve sat up a little more. He had a feeling of what type of video Peter was talking about, but there was lots of porn on their video channel, so he didn’t see what made this one so bad. “‘These ones’?” He quoted.

 Peter flushed. “Slave on slave videos. It’s not that I mind doing them, I really don’t, I just really hate asking.”

 MJ clapped her hands once, getting everyone’s attention. “Alright, so who will it be this time? I’m out, it doesn’t count if the slaves are from the same house.”

 “I’m out too,” Shuri said quickly. “I already told you, I hit it and I quit it. I’m not even a pleasure slave.”

 Pietro sighed again, making eye contact with Gamora. They looked like they were having an intense discussion with their eyes, and that they were about three seconds away from busting out rock-paper-scissors, when Steve shrugged. “I’ll do it.”

 Everyone looked at him. The blush on Peter’s cheeks traveled to his ears. “What?”

 “Well,” Steve amended, thinking it through. “I can’t actually ‘do it’. My dick is otherwise occupied at this time.” He gestured to his junk, which was of course still tucked to high heaven, “But we could kiss. Make it interesting enough that there no dick-on-dick action required.”

 Pietro cleared his throat. “I don’t know if you understand how gay sex works; usually it’s not dick-on-dick as much as it is dick-in—”

 “That’d be great,” Peter said quickly. “I, um. I think that’d work. Especially since you’re new, and you’re not a pleasure slave.”

 “People do love twink on twink action,” Pietro said thoughtfully. “And it would mean I wouldn’t have to do it.”

 “I’m not a twink,” Steve bit back.

 Pietro raised an eyebrow. “You’re a skinny, gay submissive. If you’re not a twink then Peter’s not a whore.”

 “Hey!”

 “I’m sorry! I just call things as I see them!”

 Peter huffed and pulled out his camera, messing with the settings before handing it off to MJ. “Give me a minute, I have to fix the exposure. Why are you two both so pale?”

 “Where are you so ugly?” Peter bit back. His blush had receded, leaving Steve to believe that he really was just embarrassed about the asking, not the doing. Peter looked to Steve, a little smile growing on his face. “So what _exactly_ counts as interesting in your book?”

 Well. That was a question. Steve plowed ahead with feigned confidence, his mind only then realizing _oh shit this is actually a thing that’s happening._ “Aggressive kissing. Hands in shirts is okay, but I don’t have pants, and if you try to grope my dick I will slap you. Same goes for me.”

 “Sounds good,” Peter said with a grin. “MJ, you ready?”

 Steve gave the room one last glance around. Most of the other slaves were watching with vague interest, though of course Pietro was pretending not to care, and Gamora was sitting against the wall, chewing on her fingernail and looking away. She was probably used to these shenanigans by now.

 “And… recording. You are good to go.”

 Peter didn’t try to make it into a scene by developing a storyline or anything. He didn’t even say anything, just crawled forwards and shoved Steve back against the blankets, leaning down and kissing him hard. Steve made a noise of surprise but kissed back, trying to keep up but being sorely out of practice. Peter was making it into a whole show: sticking his butt out and rolling his hips for the camera, clasping Steve’s face with his hands and taking control. He was _taking control,_ Steve realized. Peter was trying to dominate him.

 It may have been petty, and back home Steve would have gotten a lecture and a half about toxic masculinity, but he couldn’t help it. Even more so, he didn’t _want_ to help it. Pietro already thought he was a twink; Steve wasn’t going to let Peter, giggly, submissive Peter, dominate him.

 With a growl, Steve pushed back against Peter, breaking the kiss and then reconnecting it on his terms. Peter made a noise— probably for the camera, but maybe also for Steve— and Steve threaded his fingers through the roots of Peter’s lightly curled hair, getting a firm grip and holding it. The kiss got rougher, more aggressive, open mouthed and impossible to keep up with, but Steve didn’t care. Peter was a good kisser, and Steve was touch-starved as all Hell. He didn’t mind what little physical affection Bucky gave him, but it came with a certain air of shame, like he was so desperate that had to rely on his master for something as basic as human contact. This wasn’t like that. Camera or no, this was on Steve’s terms, and he was doing it because he wanted to.

 As the kiss went on, Steve just wanted it more. Peter knew what he was doing, knew how to move and kiss and moan like he had never had a better kiss in his life. It was a skill probably learned through lots of sex with his own needs taking the sideline, and his master’s needs being the primary objective, but Steve didn’t mind it all that much. It was effective, and even if it was partially an act, Steve knew it wasn’t completely an act.

 Peter moaned into his mouth and dropped his hips, grinning down on Steve while not really touching him either. Steve still gasped from the motion. Peter _really_ knew what he was doing.

 Steve gave himself three seconds to pant for breath, indulging himself in the touch, before taking control once more. He shoved Peter over, rolling on top of him clumsily and starting up the kiss again while Shuri yelped in the background, almost getting run over by their tangling bodies. She hurried to move away, but Steve couldn’t care, couldn’t even think to apologize. Peter’s hands were up his mesh shirt, and even though it wasn’t real contact because of the bodysuit underneath, it was still intimate as hell and made Steve moan into the kiss, his hips jerking even though they weren’t close enough to actually grind against him. Steve didn’t care, he didn’t care, it was so good, he didn’t give a single shit.

 Peter pulled away from the kiss, ignoring it when Steve tried to chase his lips. They’d rolled over again so Peter was once more on top, and he pushed Steve down by his sternum, moving his head so Peter could lick down his neck. Steve made an incredibly undignified noise at that, and Peter leaned in, nipping and biting at him. Without anywhere else to put them, Steve out his hands on Peter’s back, running his fingers over his spine and shoulder blades through his shirt. His hands landing on his waist, and his pushed Peter down, letting him rest his entire weight on Steve, and Steve let out another moan. He’d had sex before, and he’d had good sex before, but this was different. It was sexual, but it wasn’t _just_ sexual. It should have been. There were no romantic feelings between him and Peter, but he dared to say that Peter was his friend. That made the experience almost romantic— touching someone because you wanted to touch them, not because you just wanted to get off and they were the most convenient method. Even without friction, it was sexual. His dick, very carefully tucked and contained, was beginning to realize that too.

 Peter must have done something, or made some sort of signal, because MJ called out “Cut!”

 Peter pulled away, gasping like he’d just ran a mile. Steve’s own chest was heaving, and he hadn’t even been doing anything, just laying down and allowing his neck to be lovingly assaulted.

 Peter, still trying to catch his breath, grinned.

 “Fuck,” Steve agreed. “That was good.”

 Peter laughed breathily. “Yeah. It was.”

 “‘You should go slowly, Peter’,” Pietro mocked, making his voice high pitched like he was repeating something said earlier. “‘He may not be into it, Peter. We don’t want to scare him, Peter.’”

 Peter kicked him, still grinning as he muttered “Shut up.”

 Steve sat up on the cushions, running a hand through his hair. He reached down and very carefully cupped himself, having to make a slight adjustment. The contraption was notable less comfortable with a semi, he decided, though he _was_ still adequately tucked. It was a good thing they stopped when they did.

 “Sorry,” Peter murmured when he noticed was Steve was doing. “‘Can’t be comfortable.”

 Steve let himself chuckle. “I’m fine. It’s the least of my worries.”

 “Yeah,” Pietro agreed. “You should be worried about that hickey.”

 “Huh?”

 Peter climbed around to Steve’s other side, and Steve craned his neck, trying to give Peter easier access to see it. “Aw, shit. I’m sorry man. I didn’t think I bit that hard.”

 Steve waved it aside. “It’s fine. I bruise easily.”

 Normally, he really wouldn’t mind. It was just a hickey, and Steve knew that it really couldn’t be that dark, since Peter hadn’t made it on purpose. But it’d be hard to keep from Bucky, and Steve got the feeling that he might not be happy about it.

 Peter was beginning to look genuinely guilty, so Steve tried to set him at ease. “It’s really fine. Bucky’s a pussycat, I’m not going to get in big trouble.”

 “Seriously? Because the Bucky I know carries a gun everywhere and is like, the least social person ever.”

 “Quiet people are more likely to be serial killers than loud people,” Pietro added helpfully.

 Steve shook his head, forcing a small smile. “Whatever. I’ll survive.”

 “I really am sorry—”

 “Hey, Bucky knows about the YouTube channel. He’ll see the video anyways, and I knew that going in. And I said necking was fine; you didn’t do anything. It _was_ really fun, by the way. We’ll have to do it again.”

 Finally, that seemed to subdue him. “Duly noted. And thanks, by the way.”

  
  


——————

  
  


 Bucky noticed. Oh, did he notice.

 He didn’t say anything, but based on the way he wound the leash around his hand until his fist was pressed against Steve’s collar, he noticed. He led Steve out of the building like that, lightly manhandling him. Steve caught Peter’s eyes on the way, the boy looking even more worried than before. Steve blew him a kiss, because fuck it. Bucky yanked him away then, obviously having seen it, and Steve had to bite his tongue hard to keep from cackling with joy.

 Steve wasn’t sick, wasn’t hurt, wasn’t panicking; there was no good excuse Bucky could use to avoid punishing him. He would have to punish Steve if he wanted to keep his authority. That meant that if he didn’t, Steve would be able to push his limits more. But if Bucky did punish Steve, it would be because Steve made a conscious choice, forcing his hand. Either way, Steve won.

 He hadn’t been thinking about the possibility of punishment when he agreed to kiss Peter, but when he found out about the hickey, the plan had slowly started forming. It had been so long since Steve got in a good fight; he was itching for it, desperate and needy like a nymphomaniac, except instead of wanting sex he wanted bruises. Not just bruises, bruises on their own weren’t good enough— he wanted bruises on his hands. He wanted split knuckles. Natasha used to call him a masochist, which just wasn’t true. He didn’t get off on being hurt, nor did he get off on hurting. It was the physicality of it, pure and simple. He liked having power. He liked a fair fight— especially when the people he was fighting expected him to lose easily.

 Steve had a lot of split knuckles on earth, to the point where Natasha would just see them and sigh. “Did they deserve it?” She’d ask, lounging on the couch and pretending to be looking at something on her phone.

 “You know they did,” Steve would say as he passed behind her, sharing a brief moment of physical affection— a light ruffle to her hair, or a touch to her shoulder— before he continued moving.

 The memory of Natasha hit Steve like a truck. He missed her _so much._ All this time, he’d been thinking about how she would react to his kidnapping, how she and Clint would grieve, but he’d never let himself come to the realization that they would be able to grieve, but he never would. He _knew_ they were still alive— or at least, he was pretty sure— and there was no knowing what was happening to them. He would never see them again, plain and simple. All of his memories were just memories, past without the potential of future.

 In a way, it felt like finding out they’d died. They would continue to live without Steve, but the part of his life that involved them was gone. Dead. Upside down and shivered up with its legs in the air, like a possum hit by a car.

 Steve was… oh no. It was just like when his mom died. He was all alone, again. Alone in the world. No way out. Stuck. Trapped. The pulling on his collar was no longer a reminder of his rebellion, but of his loss. His autonomy was just one of the many things that had been taken from him, along with his past, and his future. So what did he have, anyways?

 He went through his mental inventory. He had his past, technically; it was the hope of the future that was gone. His present wasn’t really his either. So he had his memories. And… and…

 Two pens, two charcoal pencils, a charcoal stub, and a set of five pencils. And his notebook. And a book in English.

 And that was it.

 He was tugged close to Bucky, the metal arm wrapping around his waist and holding him there, pressed against Bucky’s chest. Steve let out a noise that wasn’t an exhale and wasn’t a gasp; if anything, it was a solitary attempt to get enough to breath. A dying gasp.

 “You’re panicking,” Bucky said low in his ear. “You don’t need to. We’re going to go home and sit on the couch and talk about what happened, and come up with a punishment that will teach you a lesson but that won’t be upsetting. Right now, you just need to relax.”

 His… fuck, his punishment. Suddenly, he no longer wanted it. He just wanted Nat, and Clint. Wanted to lay on Natasha’s ugly old couch with his head in Clint’s lap and his feet over Natasha’s, cradled and held even though they pretended to just put up with him.

 Bucky’s grip on his leash loosened, going back to giving him room to breathe. He wrapped his arm around Steve’s shoulder, not restraining, but comforting. And Steve did a horrible, horrible thing: he leaned into the touch.

 They waited at a corner and took a truck back, crammed in the back of it with a bunch of other people. Bucky pulled him close for the sake of space, and Steve went willingly. He couldn’t ask Bucky for touch, but he wasn’t going to object to the sensation of being held, being protected.

 When they got back to the house, Bucky pulled his mask off, preparing to say something, but Steve best him to it. “I don’t feel good,” he half-lied. “Can I please go to my room?” Bucky looked unsure, so Steve quickly added “You once asked for me to tell you if I think I’m going to panic. And, um. I think I’d feel more comfortable if I were alone for a little while.”

 That caused Bucky to nod. “Okay. But we’re discussing this in the morning.”

 “Yes Master.”

 The use of ‘master’ was the final reassurance, and Bucky let him go without asking anything more of him. Steve had just touched the door when Bucky asked “Wait, can you get the sleeve off by yourself?”

 Could he? Steve fucking better. If Bucky touched Steve’s dick while he was in this stage, he might just scream. “Yeah. I’ll let you know if I have trouble.”

  _Or I’ll just cut my own dick off,_ Steve thought dryly. _That too._

“Alright. Just… let me know.”

 Steve nodded, going into the fishbowl. For once, just the thought of the glass walls was absolutely nauseating. Steve climbed over his bed and hid behind it, his back pressed firmly against the wall as he pulled out his notebook and started sketching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve's sad :(. Poor boy. 
> 
> In other news, I had to do exstensive research on how drag queens tuck. Apparently, it involves using tape/cloth to shove the balls back from where they’d initially dropped, and like... putting the penis in between them??? I still don’t know. But let’s just say that any inaccuracies on the part of the cock sleeve is because they’re in a magical other world and also I’m The Author And I Do What I Want. 
> 
> In other other news, I think it might be time to change this stories rating from mature to explicit, even though there isn't sex. Thoughts?
> 
> Rip.


	13. The Incident Pt. 2 (And Then Some)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stronger warning for talk of non-con in this chapter.

Steve stared at the drawing blankly. Natasha’s body was always easy to draw, it being just a modified version of his prototype, with more defined calves and shoulders, her chest a different shape from most girl’s due to her fondness of sports bras, and her hips that a guy in college had once called ‘childbearing’ right before she broke his nose. Her face was harder to draw. It didn’t used to be, but with the months her features had begun to fade from Steve’s memory. Logically, he knew that her Cupid’s bow was long and defined, that the tip of her nose was ever so slightly upturned, that the creases in her eyelids were always visible, but that was just logically. Putting all of those pieces together into a familiar picture had been harder than it should’ve been.

 Finally, Steve closed his notebook, exhaling and rubbing his face with his hands. He was tired, and he was still wearing the stupid clothes. His eyes traced the ribbons criss crossing his legs until he could come up with a plan. It was annoying, but better than the alternative.

 So he stripped down, knowing full well that Bucky could see him through the glass wall even if Bucky was pretending to be intently reading his book. Steve wasn’t sure of the time, just that it was late, but Bucky never seemed to sleep much, and never seemed tired, so Steve doubted he’d be going to bed too soon. It allowed him to take his time undressing, struggle with the cock sleeve but managing it in the end. The device was annoying and restrictive, but it _was_ much better than walking around the entire night with his bulge on display.

 Steve changed into his most comfortable sweats. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to be punished tonight, but if he was, at least he could be cozy. It wouldn’t be too bad if Bucky beat his feet. It’d suck, obviously, but Steve could handle physical pain, and feet beatings were generally short. Maybe they could get it over with quickly.

 Steve zipped his hoodie up and knocked on the glass, trying for his best apologetic expression. “Bucky?”

 Bucky glanced up, his eyes sharp and predatory, and he lingered there for a moment, like a tiger that had been caught in the grass and wasn’t sure if it should leep or wait longer. Then Bucky got up, his movements precise and just as feline. Steve could imagine his spine shifting as he walked, the same structure as a house at— or a puma.

 “I told you not to call me Bucky,” Bucky said, though his tone wasn’t completely sure, like he couldn’t remember why he minded.

 Steve flushed. He’d already fucked up. “I meant Barnes.”

 “You aren’t supposed to call me that either.”

 Steve physically turned around and hit his head against the wall a few times, just a tap, like some light jostling might be enough to jostle his memory. He turned back. “Master. Can I talk to you?”

 “You’re talking to me right now.”

 Steve almost turned and hit his head again, but was stopped by the hint of a smile on the corner of Bucky’s mouth. “Come on. Let’s talk.”

 They sat on the couch, but instead of letting Steve lay against the opposite armrest Bucky pulled him to his side, wrapped the metal arm around his shoulders. It probably wasn’t supposed to be malicious— it was just his limb after all, metal or no— but that, plus Bucky’s larger size, made Steve feel slightly loomed over. It wasn’t… a bad feeling. It’d be worse if Steve didn’t trust him.

 Aw, shit. Steve trusted him. He was doomed.

 Bucky gently carded his fingers through Steve’s hair, then clamped down and used his grip to push Steve’s head to the side, exposing his neck. Bucky prodded at it, pushing against the bruise and making Steve… feel something. It wasn’t painful and it wasn’t sexual, it was just… _something._

Steve needed to get more physical contact. This was getting ridiculous.

 “Do you want to explain this?” Bucky asked, his voice low and dark. Steve was pretty sure that was just how his voice got late at night.

 Steve rolled his neck, managing to get out of Bucky’s grip. He flashed him a shy smile. “Yeah. That was, uh… Peter.” Was he supposed to try and keep it a secret? That seemed like a lot more trouble than it was worth, and besides, Bucky probably already knew. “Sam told him he needed to get a video for the video channel. I offered.”

 “Did you have sex?”

 It was so blunt and plain, like Bucky owned the rights to that information. Steve supposed he did. “I don’t know how I could have sex with the sleeve on.”

 “You could have taken it off,” Bucky suggested. “Or kept it on. Peter’s creative.”

 Steve raised his eyebrows. “And how would you know that?”

 “I’m best friends with his master.”

 “I thought Valkyrie was your best friend.”

 “I only say that to annoy Sam.”

 Steve shook his head, hiding a smile. “Well, we didn’t have sex. We just kissed for the camera.”

 “Was it good?”

 “Why? You looking to shack up with Peter?”

 “Not with Peter. Was it?”

 Steve couldn’t hide his grin then. “Yeah. He’s truly a master at his craft.”

 Bucky snorted. “Alright. Now, I understand I didn’t tell you not to do that.”

 “That you didn’t.”

 “But that’s the type of thing you aren’t supposed to do without my permission. Implied rules.”

 “Yeah? And what are the other implied rules?”

 “Don’t stab me. Don’t engage in any sexual activity without my permission. And others, but those are the ones that come to mind.”

 Steve nodded smally. “Alright.”

 “Is there anything you want to say for yourself?”

 He couldn't hide his grin. “It was really fun? Is that a good validation?” Bucky snorted and shoved him lightly. “Alright, alright. In my defense, I knew that it would be filmed and posted on his channel and that you would see. So I wasn't trying to go behind your back. And Peter didn’t mean to give me hickey, I just bruise easily.”

 Bucky hummed, pleased. He curled around Steve more, practically purring as he leant down and nipped at Steve’s ear affectionately. Steve winced, not expecting the affection, and Bucky pulled away a little. “You’re so good, aren’t you? You just want to please.”

  _Oof._ Fuck. “Yes Master,” Steve said, albeit hesitantly. It didn’t look like he was about to get whipped, and he dreaded the alternative.

 “Go into your room and in the second drawer, get out the second collar and bring it here.” Bucky gave him a little shove, his hand just barely brushing against Steve’s ass.

 Fuck fuck fuck, fuck fuck, fuck _fuck_. There goes Steve’s reputation, down the drain. He rebelled and in retaliation, Bucky called him obedient and cooed at him and touched his ass. Steve would jump out a window, except the house was only one floor, and he was pretty sure he couldn’t open the windows anyways. Fuck.

 Steve went and retrieved the collar. Normally, those drawers were locked but Bucky must have done something to change it, giving him access to just that one. Steve had a pretty decent idea what was in most of the drawers, but he didn’t know them all, and he felt himself dreading them.

 The collar was cold stainless steel with a rubbery padding on the inside. It was longer than the collar Steve was currently wearing, meaning it would restrict his neck motion and force decent posture. Steve already hated it.

 “This isn’t your punishment,” Bucky said when he saw Steve’s face. Steve seriously considered yeeting the collar across the room, but just barely contained himself. “You will be wearing this collar until the mark heals, and then, if you’re good, you can go back to the other one. But until then, this will keep it hidden.”

 Steve sat obediently, letting Bucky attach the restrictive collar. He clenched and unclenched his fists like a cat kneading a blanket, except without the purring.

 “So aggressive,” Bucky muttered for the millionth time. “But you’re taking it, like a good little slave. Maybe you deserve a reward?”

 “What's my punishment?” Steve asked blankly, almost interrupting him. He really didn't like the way that was going. Bucky was getting too-- and he was-- and it wasn’t--

 Bucky sniffed, and moved away. “The punishment needs to fit the crime.” _Oh fuck no._ “Steve, you're panicking again.”

 Steve sure as fuck was. ‘The punishment has to fit the crime’ his ass. If Bucky thought he was going to get away with-- if-- if--

 Would Steve imagine Clint while it happened? He decided he wouldn't, right? He would be present in the moment? Obstinate? He wouldn’t soil Clint's image because Clint would never, he would _never--_

 “Your punishment is to stay by my feet at the next event,” Bucky said, quickly diverting Steve's thoughts. “You will be bound and have your senses restricted, but we will discuss the exact deprivation beforehand. Okay? Calm down, Steve.”

 Steve could calm down. Steve could calm down. He could, he could--

 

 Bucky got up and walked away, and Steve was torn in between thinking he'd gotten bored of the conversation and thinking that he was getting another form of punishment. Steve hadn't panicked in so long, and today, he’d done it twice. What was wrong with him?

 Then something cold and smooth was pressed into his hand, and Steve looked down to find a glass of water. “Drink,” Bucky commanded. “Calm down. You're fine, Steve. You’re not in big trouble.”

 Steve drank greedily. When he was done, he strongly considered smashing the glass on the floor to see how it shattered, but Bucky was taking it from his hand first. He turned on a movie and stretched out on the couch, his feet prodding against Steve's thigh. “Come on, Stevie. You know the rule. You can only be on the couch when you're with me.”

 That was what finally made Steve's heart stop. It had been a constant, aggressive _thumpthumpthumpthump thumpthumpthumpthump_ , but at his words, it just… stopped.

  _Thump._

It wasn’t out of fear. Bucky wanted-- what, he wanted to cuddle? He wanted to comfort Steve by touching him, giving him the contact he was so desperate for-- and by doing so, making Steve become reliant on him? Steve would become desperate for his touch, a dog in heat, wanting nothing more than his master to--

 Steve made eye contact and slid down the couch, onto the floor. The dog wasn’t allowed on the couch, he said. The dog would have to sit on his lap or the floor, he said.

 Well, fuck him. The dog would sit on the floor and not give his master the satisfaction of commanding him.

  


\---------------------------

  


 Steve quickly learned that there were problems with his strategy.

 He'd forgotten about how things had been before, but Bucky was quick to remind him as soon as Steve started acting up. He was leashed in public, and Bucky took out the panel gag and made use of it. On the spectrum of various methods used to shut Steve up, the panel gag was the best one: it didn’t hurt his jaw, it didn’t look fucking stupid, and he didn’t have to deal with any slobber. It still was fucking annoying, and he got out of breath easier, but it was survivable.

 They kept going to the market, and Steve intensified his mission to learn how much the money was worth. He was really close, he was sure. He was just one combination off before figuring it out for real.

 Pietro and Loki didn’t come over to the stand again, but Steve managed to catch Pietro's eyes again. He batted his eyelashes and grinned behind the gag, hoping that Pietro could see the smile in his eyes, and blew him a kiss, just like he had Peter. Then Bucky turned around and Steve pretended to be doing his very interesting, very important job of sweeping the stone ground very seriously.

 The next time Bucky turned his back to him, Steve made very intense eye contact with Pietro and then mimed sucking a dick. Pietro snorted, and Loki turned around, making him pretend to be stacking leaves of bread very seriously.

 The gag got old quickly after that. Steve let his eyes follow the slaves that were unleashed and unbound, jealous even though he knew he shouldn't be. He managed to hold out his defiance for three days, before finally giving in and kneeling at Bucky's feet, nuzzling against his thigh. That day Bucky had decided to put the leather cage around his head, not blocking his vision but restraining him more. Bucky ran a hand through Steve's hair, then looped his finger through one of the straps, pulling on it. “Hey, punk. You need something?”

  _An aspirin, maybe. Perhaps some low grade cocaine?_

Steve nuzzled more, like a cat who wanted desperately to be pet. “Alright,” Bucky said, “I guess it is close to lunchtime. Hold still.”

 He unfastened the leather cage, sliding it up and off, then unlocked the panel gag, handing Steve a water bottle. “You're not getting too hot, are you?”

  _I’m going to throw you in a volcano._ “No. Well.”

 Bucky massaged his head more, tipping to water bottle back so he had to keep drinking from it. Steve tried to raise his hands to take the water bottle from him, but Bucky slapped him away. “No. Let me.”

 Bucky tilted the water bottle up more, forcing Steve to crane his head all the way back. He swallowed hard, trying to keep from choking on the water pouring into his mouth. Bucky pulled back, letting Steve catch his breath, and then his hand was around Steve’s neck, forcing his head back and putting the nozzle of the water bottle back in his mouth.

 Steve struggled, but he was trapped there, stuck gulping the water down. He finally gave up, the water dribbling down his chin, and Bucky pulled away.

 “Good boy,” he praised.

 Bucky tried to get Steve to eat out of his hand, but Steve refused. “I’m not hungry.”

 “You have to eat.” It wasn’t a vague statement, like _you have to eat to live,_ but a command. _You have to eat because I told you to._

Steve looked up at his through his lashes. “Can I please feed myself?”

 Bucky relented, and Steve settled on the ground, his back to the leg of Bucky’s chair as he chewed in silence. Once he was done, he drank some more water, _without_ Bucky’s help this time, and forced himself to calm down, relax. He wanted off the fucking leash; he had to be good.

 Bucky slipped the gag back on without warning, and then the leather cage. Steve let his head thump against Bucky’s knee, the picture of submission, and tried to take a nap. It wasn’t happening— something about the panel gag made his brain go _no no no we can’t relax,_ so instead Steve just let his mind wander, eyes shut. He thought of his apartment back home, but after a few moments of that he decided he couldn’t get homesick, not now. That home of his was gone. He had to think about now.

 So instead he thought of Peter, and Pietro. Gamora, with her green skin and chewed on nails. Nebula, with her blue skin morphing smoothly into metal. Steve wondered if she and Bucky got their metal arms from the same place. Was there some intergalactic arms dealer out there? And by arms, Steve meant prosthetic arms, not weapons, though he supposed if there was an intergalactic prosthetic dealer out there there was probably another one who sold weapons.

 He thought about Quill, Sam’s old slave that hung himself. He wondered why he did it, what the tipping point was. Was it the dehumanization? The objectification? Or was it something specific to his experience— the house crowded with six other slaves, the filming.

 Bucky roused him, giving him quiet commands to count out the money in the register while he started loading up the truck. Steve did so, counting out the coins. So many coins, and Steve still didn’t know how much each was worth.

 He glanced behind him. Bucky had gone around to the front of the truck, messing with something there. He wasn’t watching.

 Steve was going to be shot, and then stabbed, and then fed to the dog. And then raped. And shot again.

 Fuck it.

 Steve tucked three coins in his pocket, one from each section just in case. If Bucky found out, Steve was going to die, but hey, he would die eventually anyways. What was the harm?

 That night, when Steve was climbing onto the couch with Bucky and Bucky pressed him for being good, Steve just smiled.

  


—————————

  


 Steve hated sensory deprivation.

 As punishment for the hickey, Steve was to go to the next party with Bucky under full bondage and sensory deprivation. They hadn’t expiriemented with it before, so Bucky let him have a trail run. Which was code for “I’m going to tie you up and leave you in the middle of the living room where you can’t see, hear, or say anything, and I’m going to call it mercy”.

 It was great.

 Bucky seemed to have an altered idea of what the ‘senses’ were. Steve could still smell, and he could still taste— albeit, the ballgag currently making his jaw sore didn’t taste like much— but the lack of sight and hearing were hell. Suddenly, Steve had a much greater appreciation for Helen Keller. He had no way of knowing what was going on in his surrounding except for what he could tell from the vibration of the floor boards as Bucky walked around. All that was really left was his sense of touch, except he wasn’t allowed to use it. He was kneeling with his hands cuffed to his ankles.

 The floorboards shook, tremoring like an army of ants were marching across them, and Steve tensed as Bucky walked behind him. It seemed like he was passing without comment, when he suddenly changed course and pinched Steve on the ear. Steve grunted into the gag, twitching.

 He was left like that for an imperceptible amount of time, and while Steve’s patience had grown in his months of captivity, the time just felt longer due to the lack of sensory input. It was hellish, and it was horrible, and when Bucky laced his fingers into Steve’s hair and pulled, Steve almost didn’t mind it. The earplugs were taken out, and then the gag, but the blindfold stayed. “What do you think?” Bucky murmured, low and guttural in Steve’s ear. Steve wished for a moment that he still had the gag in, just so he wouldn’t have to reply.

 “Don’ like it,” Steve whined, words slurred. “‘S not fun.”

 “Mmm. Anything that you think you wouldn’t be able to stand?”

  _Mmm, all of it?_ “The earplugs. They’re hellish.”

 “Well, it is a punishment.”

 “I’ll cry,” Steve threatened.

 Bucky tugged on Steve’s hair. “It’s a punishment.”

 “I’ll _panic.”_

“You’ll be restrained.”

 Steve tensed up at that. Bucky had always been so serious about being fair, and just, and kind, but when it came down to it—

 “I’m kidding. We can leave the earplugs out.”

 Steve let go of a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. “Thank you.”

 “Thank you what?”

 “Master. Thank you Master.”

 Bucky hummed, and Steve felt him kneel in front of him. “I like you like this,” he whispered, like all of the earlier murmurings had been appropriate for the walls and the chairs to hear, but this wasn’t. “Quiet. Dependent. Obedient.” With each word, he pressed a kiss to Steve’s face: one to his cheek, one to his forehead, and one to his other cheek. Steve shivered involuntarily, clenching to try to keep himself together, like Bucky’s light kisses would be enough to turn Steve to one of the piles of straw in the barn. “You’re good at being a little problem, you know? But like this, blindfolded, tied up… its harder, isn’t it. Harder to give me trouble.”

 He pressed another kiss to Steve’s forehead. His lips were soft and wet, leaving light glistens of saliva on Steve’s skin that he couldn’t wipe away. It was the most intimate thing Bucky had done to him yet, including the scientific way he’d touched and arranged Steve’s dick only a few nights prior. Doctors touched penises, but doctors didn’t kiss the subject.

 Bucky kissed in between his eyebrows and down his bridge of his nose, muttering all the while about how good and perfect and beautiful Steve was. As he got closer to Steve’s lips, he got closer to crossing the line that Steve had hoped had been drawn. To him, it was a line made of concrete, of stone. But to Bucky, it was a line of sand: easily washed away at the turn of the tide. And oh, was the tide turning.

 Steve’s face was held still by Bucky’s hands, one human, one not. There was no moving, there was no escaping. Bucky pressed a kiss to the tip of Steve’s nose, and then used his grip on his face to tilt his head up, closer, making his lips more accessible. No noses would get in the way of this kiss, nor would a silly little thing like consent. Steve was a slave, and this man, kneeling before him, was his master. Steve had been in a very deep denial about that, but it was true. The only reason Bucky hadn’t fucked him yet was because he hadn’t felt the inclination; he wanted a farmhand, not a toy. But how long did it take before Bucky realized he could have both?

 Bucky’s thumb brushed across Steve’s lips, and Steve realized he was trembling. He thought of Peter, having his virginity taken like this, thought of Gamora, so used to the spectacle she didn’t even bother watching anymore. They had gone through worse. They had been raped, actually raped, and they continued on like it was just a part of life, because for them, it was. Seven o’clock, wake up. Twelve o’clock, have lunch. Eight o’clock, be violated. Ten o’clock, bed.

 Rinse and repeat.

 Steve didn’t have the right to be upset about this. He didn’t. He wasn’t being raped ( _yet,_ the cruel little voice in the back of his mind said), he was just being kissed. Just a kiss. He could be kissed without his consent. What did it matter? It was just a kiss. Steve had no good reason to be so afraid, but he was. He was. He was.

 Steve could tell from the shifting air, the catch in Bucky’s breath, that he was leaning forwards. So close. So close. So close—

 Bucky pressed a soft, sweet, gentle, unwanted kiss to Steve’s chin. It was not his mouth, but Bucky’s top lip pressed against Steve’s bottom lip, almost playfully. Playfully, yes, like a game. This was all just one big game, all just one big joke.

 “You’re upset,” Bucky whispered.

 “I’m not.”

 Bucky rubbed his thumb along the bottom of Steve’s lip again, that lip he had teased but had never actually kissed. “You are.”

 “You don’t get to tell me what I am and what I’m not,” Steve bit, the words coming out without his permission, though he didn’t really care. If he could take them back, he probably wouldn’t. “I don’t need your permission to exist.”

 Bucky was very, very quiet after that.

  


——————————

  


 The party wasn’t too bad, mostly because Steve was still allowed his sense of hearing. It gave him the opportunity to appreciate how much he hated being blindfolded.

 Steve was lead into the party with his arms bound with ropes and his eyesight blocked by the blindfold. He was already gagged, and though he was leashed, Bucky held onto his collar directly, guiding him like he was a horse with blinders. Steve was brought where Bucky wanted, and was pushed to his knees. From there, Bucky attached something between his ankle cuffs and wrist ropes, tying them together and restricting Steve’s range of motion to fucking nothing.

 Steve listened as various people came and talked to Bucky, mostly just his established friends. Valkyrie came over and rubbed under his chin, which made Steve want to kill somebody: how _dare_ she, how _dare_ she touch him like she had a right, how _dare_ she, how _dare_ she. Sam came over too, with Peter, which was great. The humiliation of being paraded around like this, being so vulnerable in front of a crowd, being dressed and corralled like he was nothing more than an animal, really, it wasn’t enough. He needed to be seen by a friend too. That was the cherry on the sundae. That was the good shit.

 “Sir Barnes, may I please touch him?”

 A shiver went down Steve’s spine whenever Bucky talked, partially because of his dangerous tone, and partially because Bucky’s finger was tucked in Steve’s collar, so he could feel the vibration of his words in his skin. “No. He’s on punishment.”

 “Aw, come on!” Sam said, way too light-hearted for the situation. “They’re so cute together. He won’t do anything bad, will you Peter?”

 There was something in his tone, like he was winking. Steve didn’t trust the situation at all.

 “No, of course not, master.”

 Oh, they were definitely winking up a storm. Steve bit down harder on his gag.

 Bucky seemed to be considering. Finally, he agreed, and Peter knelt in front of Steve, so close their knees touched. Steve could feel him lean in and give him a long, affectionate kiss on the cheek, and Steve let out a puff through his nose, trying his best not to cry.

 Then Peter’s hand was on his dick, palming him through his pants. Steve must have reacted, because Sam laughed. Peter leaned in and whispered “I’m sorry,” and then was roughly yanked away.

 Sam wasn’t laughing anymore. “Hey, you don’t do that. Whispering is for people who have secrets.”

 “I’m sorry Master! I just told him he looked cute! I have a harness like that, remember? The blue one?”

 Sam didn’t seem convinced, but Steve knew that he also doubted Peter’s mind. Peter was brilliant, but Sam only knew him as enticing. “Alright. But don’t do it again. Come on Peter, let’s go.”

 Steve wanted to call him back, ask him to stay. He should have felt more upset about being palmed for Sam’s amusement, but he wasn’t. It was Peter, and he only did it because he had to. Steve had touched Peter before, and it was nice. He trusted him. It wasn’t consent, but it wasn’t bad.

 Bucky checked in on him a little later, removing the gag and holding a bottle of water to his lips. He didn’t force Steve to drink it this time, which he appreciated. “Are you doing okay?”

  _I’m fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. Fuck you. Fine._

Steve didn’t respond.

 Bucky pinched him on the cheek, lightly. “Are you doing okay?”

  _I hope Shuri’s death ray works. I hope you get what you deserve._

“Steven, answer me.”

  _Suck my dick._

Bucky patted Steve’s cheek with the back of his hand, like a slap but without the force. “Hey. Hey. Come back to me.”

  _I’m right here, fuckhead._

“ _Answer me.”_

_Bite me._

Steve could feel a hand at the back of his head, undoing the blindfold, and then he could see. It was too bright, everyone’s clothes too loud. He closed his eyes.

 “Hey, no, Steve, open.”

 Steve obeyed, but just so he could turn his head and look at Bucky. He looked at him with wide, expectant eyes, and while he stayed silent, he hoped the message was clear. _I hear you. I’m just ignoring you._

“What’s wrong?”

  _I’m going to k-i-l-l—_

“That’s it.”

 Steve’s ankles were undone and he was hauled to his feet. Bucky dragged across the room with his hands clamped on his still-bound arms, like a police escorting a prisoner. It wasn’t much, but it was a lot better than being dragged around like a dog.

 Bucky pushed into an empty room, closing the door behind him and depositing Steve on a couch. He then set to work undoing the rope bondage on his arms. It was the first time Bucky had ever taken it off while they were out in public. Once the rope was off, Bucky massaged his arms, carefully stretching them out for him and releasing them. He knelt in front of Steve, and after a moment's pause, removed the mask and the  goggles. Another thing he didn’t do in public. “Hey. Stevie. Talk to me.”

 Steve could continue his vow of silence. He’d make Bucky miserable with it, make him see what it’s like to ask a million questions but never get an answer. But there was something else he wanted to do more.

 “Fuck you.” He spat, as in, literally spat on Bucky’s face, because one day he would die anyways so what the fuck did something like self-preservation matter anyways? “Next time, just beat me.”

 Bucky just stared at him for a few seconds. Neither of them were willing to look away, nether willing to back down. Then Bucky raised his hand and carefully wiped the spit from his face, and Steve felt the fear of God.

 “When we get home,” Bucky said, far too calmly, “I’m going to have you run laps to get your anger out.” Then he got up, plopped on the couch besides Steve, and hugged him tightly as Steve sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. 
> 
> Please comment and let me know what you’re thinking.


	14. The Other Stories

 Peter nuzzled up against him, his bare chest warm to the touch. They were in Steve’s fishbowl, and though Bucky and Sam were on the couch in the living room where they could easily keep an eye on them, they didn’t bother. 

 Steve had been allowed to see Peter, but only under specific rules. “No marks, and no sex,” Bucky had declared. He had then given Steve a small metal object that Steve didn’t understand the use for, just knew that it was maleficent. “That is a cock cage. It’s your size. If you break my rules, I will be putting that on you. Do you understand?”

 Oh yes, Steve understood very clearly. He understood that he’d rather get gunned down than have something called a  _ cock cage  _ put on him, which he expressed in more polite, less exact terms. Bucky accepted it, and Sam and Peter came over. 

 Steve had been asleep at the time, but Peter didn’t mind. He just pulled off his shirt and climbed right in with Steve, who woke up at the movement, watching Peter as he crawled down. He tucked himself in, and without a minute, they were cuddling. Steve really didn’t have any negative feelings towards it. 

 “Hey Peter?” Steve asked, knowing he probably shouldn’t but having a hard time stopping himself. “Why did Quill hang himself?”

 Peter shifted, uncomfortable, but not withdrawing from the conversation. “Do you want to know the real reason, or the abridged reason?”

 “The real reason,” Steve said immediately. “But. You don’t have to tell me. If you don’t want.”

 Peter snorted, hiding his face in Steve’s chest for a moment before coming back up for air. “That’s cute. Okay, anyways. So, on Midgard, prostitutes all have different angles, you know? It’s kind of the same here. Because there’s six of us— seven of us, with Quill— Sam had us all for a specific reason. Each of us had a different angle.”

 Steve nodded. “Right. And your angle was the dick-chomping budget buy.”

 Peter shoved him playfully. “Asshole. You’re not actually that far off though. When Sam initially bought me, it was sort of as a project. I was obedient, but I wasn’t good at the pretend stuff, you know? So he bought me, worked with me for a while, and then got bored because I was never willing to give him the time of day.”

 “What changed?”

 Peter wrinkled his nose. “Quill died, I decided I wanted to be the favorite, and I changed my angle. It’s now more of the boyfriend experience, so like, cutesy and playful and head over heels for him. It’s definitely not the worst angle; sometimes I even convince myself.” 

 Steve nodded. He wanted to stroke Peter’s hair, but that was too much like what the masters did, so instead he just cuddled closer, rubbing circles onto the side of Peter’s rib cage. Peter gave him a shy smile, and continued. 

 “So, anyways, that’s my angle. The others have different ones, but the worst one right now is Nebula’s. Sam has this… complex, about her? I guess? Because she’s an alien, but like, really obviously an alien, and she has huge eyes and blue skin and is part cyborg and he likes… well, you probably get it. So that’s uncomfortable, but it’s not as bad as Quill’s. Sam liked using him for, erm. Humiliation. Do you know what a sadist is?”

 “Someone who gets off from other people’s pain,” Steve answered, not meeting Peter’s eyes. Peter was looking up at the ceiling anyways. It was easy to talk like this. “And a masochist is someone who gets off from their own pain.”

 “Right. Well, Sam is a sadist, but Quill wasn’t a masochist. He was really into the sweet, loving stuff. You should have seen him with Gamora, they were— anyway.” He cut himself off. Steve made a face at the comment, how Peter just casually mentioned liking watch the two of them have sex because it was romantic. Peter laughed awkwardly. “Sorry. I forget that it’s not like that everywhere. Anyways, he was into the lovey shit, but Sam used him for humiliation. And one day, he just… snapped.”

 Steve nodded. It made sense. “You mentioned that he killed himself at a party?”

 Peter shifted, getting more comfortable. That included sticking a leg in between Steve’s, which Steve really, really didn’t mind. No one had ever been so comfortable with him, and Steve was an absolute slut for it. “Yeah. It was the only place where he wasn’t being monitored, because Sam thought he was with us and we all thought he was with Sam. It was worse because all seven of us were at this party, meaning that no one could really keep track of everything. Gamora was the first one to realize he was gone, and then Nebula was the one to find him.”

 Steve caught his breath. “That sounds…”

 “Horrible?” Peter offered. “It probably was. I'm glad it was her though. She and Gamora have a history together, they never really shared, but they do. They’ve seen a lot of deaths. So it needed to be one of them, and Gamora was emotionally attached, so…” he shrugged. “She told Sam. Sam… called someone, or something. When we finally managed to get into the room where it happened, everything was gone. Nothing left. Like it didn’t happen.” 

 “Where did the body go?” Steve asked idly, curious. 

 “I don't think I want to talk about this anymore,” Peter responded, simply, like he'd just lost interest. “Do you wanna make out?” 

 Steve huffed a laugh, surprised. “I mean… sure. No marks.”

 “No marks,” Peter agreed. “I won’t risk it this time.”

 So they kissed. It was almost as good as the first time, but this time it was much more relaxed. The sheets shifted around them, tangling up as they moved and rolled around. 

 When they broke apart, Steve was on top with his knees on either side of Peter's waist. He grinned at him and then looked up. Sam and Bucky were both watching them, still sprawled out on the couch casually, and Sam had a camera pointed at them. 

 Steve's heart dropped, and his face fell. Peter gently grabbed onto his collar, pulling him down. “Just ignore it. Come on, cuddle with me.”

  
  


\-----------------------

 “I don’t see what your problem is,” Shuri said, a teasing smile on her face. “It's just a three inch needle that I'm going to plunge through your skin, scarring you for life.” 

 None of the Doras were in the room, but from across the shop Okoye yelled “Shur-i!”

 “Sorry!” 

 Steve leaned forwards on his elbows. He was sitting backwards on a chair-like object, like a weight bench, his shirt off and back exposed. His collar, which was still the wider, less comfortable one-- the hickey hadn’t completely faded yet-- was leashed to a hole by the top of it. His arms had been chained together at the elbows with only about six inches in between them, keeping him from squeezing his shoulder blades together. 

 Those precautions were all for later, though. For now, Steve was stuck watching as Shuri disinfected a few different needles, going through the process like she had done it a hundred times before. When she was done with that, she poked each of Steve's earlobes with a marker, then looked towards Bucky, asking “How's that?”

 Bucky squatted in front of Steve, his elbows on his knees. He’d taken off the mask again, which Steve appreciated. He looked at Steve's ears analytically, deciding. “It’s fine. Go ahead.” 

 Shuri grinned and picked up a needle. “Oh, don't worry. It’s not actually that bad. Look, I got another one yesterday, I hardly even felt it.” She showed Steve a little hoop on the side of her ear, what Steve was beginning to recognize as a helix piercing. “And that went through skin and cartilage. These ones will only go through skin and fat.” 

 “I wonder if your ears would get fat if you eat a lot of food.”

 Shuri laughed. “Probably not. When I look at American's, I never notice them having fat ears.”

 “Hey!”

 Bucky silently came over to Steve's side, threading his fingers through his hair and pressing his chin against the weird piece of furniture. He held his hand there, holding Steve still as Shuri lined up the needle. 

 Steve squeezed his eyes shut as she did it. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was more of a quick bite than anything else. She quickly switched out the needle for the earring, then went to the other side. 

 Bucky let go when she was done, and Shuri held up a mirror for Steve to see. The piercings were simple enough, just a wide black circle covering part of his earlobe without changing the shape at all. Steve hadn’t been sure about it, but Bucky had insisted, because “Think of the aesthetic!”

 Every day Steve lived with with Bucky, he became more and more emo. Or, goth, was it? Punk? 

 “I like them,” Bucky decided. “Okoye, we're ready for you.”

 Like that wasn't enough needles for one day. Steve was actually here for a two parter: the piercings, and then a tattoo. He’d drawn out the design and Bucky had approved it, so now there were two drawn out designs, already prepped and on the transfer paper, ready to go. They were geometric wolf heads, basically just some abstract line art with the wolves both turned in, howling at the moon-- which in this case, Steve supposed, would be his head. There'd be one on each of his shoulder blades. 

 Steve pressed against the leather chair as Okoye worked, gritting his teeth and digging his nails into the leather. It hurt about the same level as the one before, but was made worse by how long it took. He sat in the chair for hours and hours as the skin of his back was scraped raw. 

 The next day, the tattoo and his entire shoulder blade hurt like hell. Bucky cut his chore load in half so Steve could sleep it off. 

 Finally, a week later Steve went back and got the other side done. He was allowed to stand and look at himself in the mirror afterwards. He was shirtless, with a collar locked around his neck, his ears pierced with black circular piercings, and his shoulder blades tattooed. With every passing day, he was looking less and less like the Steve Rogers he used to be. This was made especially apparent when Bucky came up behind him in the mirror and wrapped his large arms around him, hugging him tight. No, whoever the old Steve Rogers had been, he was certainly dead now. 

 Bucky hugged him a little tighter, and Steve remembered: he was supposed to express gratitude.  _ Thank you, master, I love it, master, you're so good to me, master.  _ Steve didn’t think that he could manage that right then, so instead he turned and kissed Bucky on the cheek. The smile that Bucky gave him made it clear that that was better than a thousand  _ yes master's,  _ and Steve's heart fell.

  
  


———————

  
  


 When the cold hit, it hit hard. 

 Becky had predicted the first cold front to the day, and they spent the week before it harvesting the remaining crops, selling what they could, and pickling the rest. When the cold hit, Steve found Bucky standing by the window, a mug of tea in his hands as he watched the snow fall, lit by the early dawn light. Steve’s teeth chattered. 

 As it turned out, the house had no heating elements besides a small fireplace that was revealed when Bucky saw his shivering, rolled his eyes, and grabbed a panel on the wall, sliding it up to reveal the dusty little thing. It helped, but not by much. 

 Bucky didn’t even seem to register the cold. 

 Steve shivered all through his morning chores, doing the work quicker and sloppier than he normally would. When he reported to Bucky, Bucky pointed out the streak marks on the floor and made him wash it again. 

 There was no relief in the shower. The water was only hot as long as the basin outside was hot, which meant that the water was all but frozen. Steve took the quickest shower of his life, wrapping himself up in his towel and running to his room to see what clothes Bucky was giving him today. Steve would gladly be dressed up like a doll today if it meant warmth. 

 He was terribly disappointed then, when he saw what was actually being offered him. Bucky went behind him, silent as a ghost, and pinched the towel, pulling it off of Steve’s quivering, naked body like it meant nothing. Steve whined, leaning forwards and back on his frozen toes to try and get some sort of warmth. 

 Bucky pulled another pair of black undies up Steve’s legs, not commenting on his Steve’s balls were retreating. Next came two pairs of long socks, pulled up past his knees, and shorts. Steve was about ready to scream, but he complied. The shorts and socks tiente revealed about four inches of bare thigh, not only to the casual observer, but also to the cold. After that came a tight, black, sleeveless turtleneck, warm but made stupid by the lack of sleeves. Fingerless gloves covered his palms to above his elbows, and the entire outfit was completed by a harness and collar duo, with the collar tightening around the turtleneck and having straps that lead down, wrapping around his shoulders and waist. Bucky gave him shoes to put on and then left. 

 Steve pulled on the thin, loose, mockeries of shoes, tying the ribbons around them as tightly as possible. It did very little, and though the teeth chattering had stopped, he was still cold as fuck. 

 When Bucky came back he was wearing fully covering clothes and a huge fur cloak. Steve didn’t even hesitate before running to him and burying himself against Bucky’s side where he was immediately enveloped in warmth. 

 Bucky chuckled and Steve could feel his chest shake with it. “Wow, someone’s in a cuddly mood.”

 “I’m freezing my tits off,” Steve said to Bucky’s shirt. 

 His flesh hand ran up and down Steve’s back, strong and reassuring. He pressed his metal fingers against one of Steve’s nipples, feeling it and then pinching it through his shirt with a “Nope, still there.” Steve scowled and slapped his hand away, making Bucky laugh again. 

 They went to Valkyrie’s house. Steve was jittery the whole way there, pressed so close to Bucky in the back of one of the public trucks that he could feel his heartbeat. It was a little faster than normal, which couldn’t have to do with Steve, right? 

 Steve hoped Valkyrie’s house was warm. He hoped Gamora was there, and that he’d be allowed to talk to her. He also, in the back of his mind, hoped that the other slave would be around. Gamora had ranted about her so much that the curiosity he felt was inevitable. 

 But, as per usual, Steve was horribly disappointed. 

 The house was warmer, but Steve’s exposed skin still felt like ice. The new slave wasn’t present. And though Gamora was there, Steve was assigned the very important job of being Bucky’s lap warmer. Pros: he got to be warm. Cons: he had to sit on Bucky’s lap and shut the fuck up so the adults could talk. 

 Bucky and Valkyrie talked in English for a little while before Valkyrie complained. “English is my second language, I have to think too much. Can’t we speak in Russian?”

 “Yes,” Bucky said, and then “OrwecouldjustspeakinfastEnglishsoyoudontunderstandawordImsaying.”

 Valkyrie made an annoyed face at him, like at that moment Bucky was the most obnoxious thing on the planet. “What the fuck did you just say? Just speak in Russian already, dammit.”

 Valkyrie got distracted for a moment when Gamora came over, so Steve took the opportunity to curl up more against Bucky, tipping his head up so his lips almost brushed Bucky’s ear. “Is English your second language?”

 Bucky leaned down, close like he might kiss Steve, but he didn’t. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I spoke both fluently before I came here. And others.”

 Steve frowned. “How could you not know? Where did you grow up— what happened?”

 Steve was silenced when Valkyrie started talking again, because of course, Steve was only a slave. His questions only mattered when Bucky wanted them to matter. 

 Bucky rubbed up and down Steve’s thighs, like somehow that would make it better. It didn’t, and Steve snapped his hand away. Bucky didn’t look at him, but he did feel around a little before grabbing Steve’s cock through his clothes. It wasn’t tight enough to be a threat, but it wasn’t far off. Steve blushed bright red and looked away, tucking his hands under his arms. Bucky held on for a minute more before letting go with a little rolling motion. 

 Steve couldn’t look away from the floor for the rest of the morning. Eventually the conversation turned back to English, including Gamora, but Steve stayed stiff and silent. “I had to punish Gamora yesterday,” Valkyrie said, her voice radiating leftover menace. “Come on girly, tell him why.”

 Gamora’s voice was plain and unapologetic as she explained “I tried to decapitate The Bitch.”

 A light slapping noise. “I told you not to call her that. You’re supposed to call her your sister.”

 “She’s white. Also, that would be incest.” 

 Another slap. “You’re being obnoxious.”

 “I’m so sorry, Mistress. I’ll try to stop.”

 Valkyrie laughed lightly. “You’re so mean. I’m hurt. Kiss it better?”

 Steve glanced up just enough to see Gamora on her knees, craning her neck to kiss Valkyrie. One of Valkyrie’s hands was on her collar, and the other was groping her through her shirt.

 “We’ll be leaving now,” Bucky decided, picking Steve up and setting him on the floor like he weighed nothing. 

 Valkyrie laughed, and though she pulled back she didn’t remove her hand from Gamora’s neck, forcing her to stay in the strained position. Gamora looked up at her with hooded eyes, an expression Steve wasn’t quite sure how to qualify. “What, you don’t want to stay? Watch?” She started playing with Gamora through her shirt again, and Steve averted his eyes. 

 “No, not really.”

 “Sam would.” 

 “He would. But Sam’s also the horniest person I’ve ever met, so.”

 “Hey,” Valkyrie called after them, her voice switching to something more sincere. “Hey. Stay safe out there. Make good choices. You’re one of my best friends, Buck, you know that, right?”

 Bucky stopped. “Yeah,” he said, equally sincere. “You… too. I guess.”

 “I should get the other girly to show you out,” Valkyrie muttered under her breath, thinking out loud.

 “You can’t,” Gamora said, still straining her neck. “She’s still out. The drugs you gave her should last a few more hours.” 

 Valkyrie hummed, annoyed but also capable of changing her plans. “Maybe we should play with her some more then?”

 “I’d rather just be with you.”

 And that last part— well. Steve had seen Peter act, giving Sam the full boyfriend experience, but this wasn’t the same. It didn’t sound like something Gamora wouldn’t say. It was more genuine than it probably should be, what with the relationship. Gamora didn’t actually want Valkyrie like that, like a person wants their girlfriend, she was just acting. 

 Right?

 Bucky said goodbye and herded Steve out, an arm around his shoulder. Steve burrowed closer, trying to soak up as much warmth as possible from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Talk of another character's suicide with some detail, but no narration. If you could get triggered by this I would definitely recommend skipping. 
> 
> TW: Some non-con stuff, including characters being groped over their clothes and non-graphic mention of a skate being drugged and subsequently raped. 
> 
> In this chapter:  
> \- Steve and Peter talked about Quill's death, and Sam filmed them kissing  
> \- Steve got his ears pierced and the wolves tattoos on his shoulders   
> \- It got cold af and Steve wasn’t allowed warm clothes bc slavery  
> \- Steve and Bucky went to see Valkyrie and Gamora
> 
> Reference pictures: 
> 
> Steve’s earrings:  
> 
> 
> Valkyrie:  
> 
> 
> Bucky:  
>   
> 
> 
>  
> 
> Please let me know what you’re thinking! I have officially decided how this story will end, and though I don’t want to give out any spoilers, I will remind you that this story was never created with romance in mind. Decipher that as you will.


	15. The Isolation

 After visiting Valkyrie, Bucky refuses to leave the house for days.

 Once again, Steve’s routine changes. He wakes in the morning and forces himself out of bed, despite the cold. His covers are warm, but it feels like every day the outside gets colder and colder until they are hardly enough. Regardless, his bed is infinitely warmer and more inviting than the rest of the world, and it takes nearly all of Steve’s willpower to climb out of it each morning.

 His clothes are thick, but few in layers. His toes freeze through his socks when he washes the floor and makes breakfast. He stands by the tea kettle longer than necessary just for the warmth.

 Then, and only then, does he light the fireplace. He is allowed to wait there and warm up until Bucky wakes. It is almost enough. Almost.

 When Bucky gets up, he stumbles into the living room, still groggy with sleep. Steve gets a full three minutes to wait in dread as Bucky goes outside to tend to Fenris wolf, a burst of chill coming in whenever he opens the door. When he comes back in, he goes to his room and does something, maybe brushes his teeth, and then makes his way to the table, looping a finger in Steve’s collar and tugged him up. This one’s thin, with straps that sneak underneath his clothes and wrap around his chest in a simple way that makes it ideal for grabbing and dragging him with. Bucky never drags him across the floor, just drags him to his feet, not letting go until Steve’s where he wants him to be.

 Steve serves him, then goes to the counter to eat his own breakfast. Bucky doesn’t speak, so neither does Steve. When they finish, Steve clears the plates and Bucky goes back to his room until lunchtime. Eventually he starts skipping lunches, not even bothering to come out and check that Steve’s still eating.

 Steve’s sick and tired of this by day three.

 He’s trapped, completely isolated, with no one to talk to, not even Bucky. In retaliation, on day five he doesn’t make any food at all. Bucky wanders out, finds a table with no food, stares at Steve for a few moments, and then goes back to his room.

 On day six, when Bucky goes outside to feed The Wolf, Steve breaks into his bedroom. He has no time to admire or inspect the unfamiliar room before rifling through Bucky’s drawers. He finds his phone too late, and by the time he has Sam’s contact up Bucky is back inside. Steve is dragged to the living room by his hair and leashed to the couch so Bucky can have time to decide on his punishment, but Steve isn’t keen on receiving it.

 Bucky comes back in a while later, and Steve has spent the entire time trying to pick the leashes lock with part of one of his own fingernails. Bucky has absolutely no expression as he grabs Steve’s ankles in one hand and yanks them up, raising them with a grunt of “Ten strikes.” Steve has no time to panic or struggle before the riding crop comes down hard on his bare feet.

 SW-APP!

 Harsh, stinging pain rears up immediately, making Steve groan and cover his face. The pain is familiar, despite how long it’s been. Steve hates it.

 SW-APP! SW-APP!

 Bucky doesn’t pull his punches. He hits again, and then again, and with each hit he grips Steve’s ankles harder and puts more force into the swings, until Steve is crying out with every one.

 SW-APP! SW-APP! SW-APP!

 On the ninth hit, Steve kicks so hard Bucky loses his grip on him. Steve kicks again, and it’s easy as that: his heel makes contact with Bucky’s face, hard and bruising, infinitely more powerful than a punch. Steve knows he’s absolutely fucked, but he’s too busy gripping his feet and gasping for breath to care. It hurts so goddamn badly, so fucking badly, damn him, damn him to hell.

 Steve is still leashed, confined to his five foot radius of the couch while Bucky’s anger just grows.

 Bucky grabs at him and Steve leaps back instinctively, toppling over the back of the couch with absolutely zero grace. Bucky jumped and twists midair, landing silently fading Steve. His entire body moves dangerously, inhumanly. Steve doesn’t know what or who the hell he’s dealing with, but it doesn’t feel like Bucky.

 Bucky grabs at him and Steve dodges, but then there is a rough yanking on his leash and his face meets the ground hard, the corner of his forehead taking the brunt of the blow. He reaches his hand up instinctively and feels blood.

 Steve is manhandled, his hands behind his back and his cheek pressed hard against the floor. Bucky is messing with something, something Steve probably doesn’t want to know about. What will his punishment be now? More isolation? The cock cage? Another beating?

 Somehow, he finds the beating unlikely.

 Bucky undoes Steve’s leash and hauls him to his feet like a criminal. He holds Steve by the back of his neck, not even relying on the collar. They walk to the bedrooms, and Steve knows that it’s probably because that’s where his set of drawers are, but he also knows where the beds are.

 Steve didn’t sign up for any of this, but he definitely didn’t sign up for this shit. Steve pretends to start crying (it isn’t hard), and lets out a few big, ugly sobs, slowing them down minutely. Bucky put his hand on Steve’s cheek, like that was supposed to reassure him, and Steve dropped like a stone, throwing his entire body weight at Bucky’s leg. He was surprised enough that he let himself be toppled, crashing to the floor like a mountain. Steve scrambled away, grabbing his phone off the floor, and when Bucky sat and made a grab for him, Steve didn’t hesitate. He kicked Bucky in the face, his head snapping back. It was just the distraction Steve needed. He dove for Bucky’s room, sliding inside and slamming the door behind him. It had a manual lock which he turned, slumping against the door like he might have enough weight to stop Bucky from breaking it down.

 Steve fumbled with that phone, pressing Sam’s contact right as two fists slammed against the door, making the loudest noise Steve had ever heard. He screamed and pressed himself harder against the door, like it might make a difference. Another slamming noise, and Steve cried out, “Bucky, stop! You’re scaring me!”

 Sam picked up the phone right then, his face appearing on the screen in real time. “What the hell happened?” He said without prelude, and Steve fears for a moment, that he’s made a grave mistake. Bucky was always so forceful about their public personas, making sure Steve never did anything to bring doubt or humiliation to him. Steve had hoped Sam would help, but what if he didn’t? Steve was, afterall, just a slave. Sam might just tell him off and leave him to the wolves.

 But Steve had to hope that wouldn’t be the case. He was crying now, big, ugly, tears and snot, a mess and a half, but he couldn’t stop. “He’s been locking himself in his room every day and not talking to me or letting me out of the house and I’m so fucking cold and lonely all the time and I tried to call you but he beat my feet and then we got in a fight and now I’m in his room and I’m terrified, I think he’s going to break down the door and kill me, please come over, I’ve never been so fucking scared and he’s going to kill me!”

 Sam was frozen, processing. Then: “Shit.” He looked off camera and ordered, “Nebula, with me! Get the car. Steve, I’m going to hang up now to call Strange, alright? Sit tight.”

 Steve sobbed and started to beg him not to, but the call ended. He dropped the phone, kicking it out of the way, and buried his face in his hands.

 The pounding had stopped, but Steve had no faith that that meant anything. He cried silently into his hands, his entire body shaking from fear.

 After a minute, there was another pounding on the door, this one more like a knock. “Stevie, what’s going on in there? You’ve gone silent, what the fuck happened?”

 “Leave me alone!” Steve screamed, hitting his head against the door. He looked up at the ceiling, as if a ladder may suddenly appear and allow him to finally escape. None did.

 He heard a truck speed along the driveway, and then voices outside, intense and hurried. Someone called out orders: Sam, Steve thought.

 Then they were in the living room, and there was yelling, mostly from Bucky, mostly in Russian. Sam responded in English, saying things like “You need to calm down” and “Okay Strange, do it.” There were more sounds of a scuffle, and Bucky yelled, pisseed off to hell.

 Then there was a knock on the door and the lock opened easily, like it meant nothing. The door opened, pushing Steve with it, and Steve tried to get some sort of traction with his bare feet to make it stop, but they hurt too much. Luckily, it was Sam that came in, and his face was serious and calculating but not angry. He squatted and gave the room a glance over before focusing on Steve. “Hey, you doin’ okay? Where are you hurt?”

 He reached out and took ahold of Steve’s chin, using it to move his head from side to side. Steve yanked away, but Sam was unfazed, just grabbing him again with more force.

 “My forehead,” Steve said finally, gently touching the flesh wound on his temple. “And my feet.” The foot he’d kicked Bucky with throbbed, and Steve wondered idly how big the bruise would be.

 Sam nodded, taking a quick look at Steve’s feet before standing. “Nebula, bandage his flesh wound then bring him to me, alright?”

 Nebula slid in the room too, silent and expressionless as she helped Steve up, herding him to the bathroom like he simply didn’t know where it was. Her hands burned on his skin, the first touch he’d gotten in days, not including Bucky’s violence.

 She put little closure strips on his forehead wound and took him to Sam, wordless. Sam was in his room, rifling through his drawers like it wasn’t a big deal. Steve glanced at the corner in between the wall and his bed, where his journal sat on the floor. Bucky still hadn’t touched it.

 Sam locked cuffs around his wrists, sliding them through his belt loops so he couldn’t raise his hands past his hips. Steve had to force himself not to sob. From one evil to another. Even as a victim, he had to be restrained.

 Sam tried to take off Steve’s collar, but of course it was attached to the simple harness beneath his clothes. Sam gave up quickly, instead fastening a sliver of a collar above it. “Electrified,” he promised quietly. “This is a difficult situation, but I need you to obey. We’re going to leave now, and I need you to be silent until we get to the car, understand?” He picked up the panel gag and slid it in his pocket, a clear but casual threat.

 A leash was attached to Steve’s collar and he was tugged out of the room, a prisoner in every sense of the word. He had to choke back a sound when he saw Bucky. He was sitting on the couch, looking murderous but not volition, his entire body wrapped in golden light emitted from Strange’s hands. He was trapped too. What a marvel.

 Steve did his best to glare at Bucky, but it was hard. He felt more weak than ever before, like he might collapse before they even got to the car.

 He didn’t, though. Sam climbed in, then Steve, then Nebula, and Strange came out a moment later and got into the drivers seat, calm as anything.

 Sam opened his cloak and hooked a finger in Steve’s pants, pulling him across the seat until he was nestled against him, wrapped warmly in the cloak. Steve knew he was supposed to resist, or something, but he couldn’t. He was so desperate for touch and warmth and comfort that everything else could be set aside. With that, Steve burrowed his face in Sam’s arm and cried, grabbing him and holding on tight.

  
  


——————

  
  


 To Steve’s surprise, when Sam and Nebula were dropped off at the mansion, Steve was left in the car. Sam said some things to Strange in Russian and gave him the panel gag, then left. Strange put the car into drive and they continued rumbling down the road.

 “Did he actually hit you?” Strange asked, curious. “Oh, I don’t know what Barnes’ rules are for you, but you don’t need to ask to speak around me. I’m not a fan of high protocol.”

 Steve thinks about the question, taking his time replaying the events. Bucky hit his feet, but after that it was more grabbing for him. The threat of violence had caused Steve to act in self defense, which was what got him hurt.

 Strange caught his eyes in the rearview mirror. They were a glassy blue, made intense by the sharp shape of his eyelids. He had wrinkles, but they appeared carefully sculpted. Strange must have been a healthy fifty, but he could’ve been younger too, if it weren’t for the gray on the sides of his hair.

 Strange was staring at him too, harsh and analytical. But Steve hadn’t answered his question, and Strange hadn’t forced him to.

 “He didn’t hit me,” Steve said finally, looking down. “Except my feet, I mean.”

 “Yes. And how bad are they?”

 “Well, I walked out of there on my own, didn’t I?” Steve snapped. Strange didn’t rise to the bait, just made a dismissive gesture.

 “And how exactly are your knees?”

 Steve flushed pink with anger. “I’m not going to give you a fucking blowjob.”

 “Good, I don’t want one,” Strange answered easily. “Answer the question.”

 “My knees are fine.”

 “Then climb up here. Passenger seat, please, I’d have you climb into my lap but then we’d probably die a horrible fiery death so no, no thank you. I’ve been in enough car accidents for one lifetime.”

 Everything he said was fast, dismissive. Steve wasn’t sure what to make of him, but the passenger seat sounded fine enough, so he climbed over into it, settling down. “Seatbelt,” Strange reminded.

 Strange didn’t make him talk anymore, but Steve had endless questions that needed answering, and not just about today. Strange might be the only one willing to answer them.

 “Your first language was English?” He asked, because Strange had spoken fast enough it could be true. Then again, Strange was also a fast talker in Russian, so what did he know?

 “Yep. Born American, but we moved around enough that their isn’t really one state I’m from. We probably lived in Nebraska the longest, but when I moved out I put roots in New York.”

 “I’m from New York too,” Steve said quietly. “Brooklyn.”

 “Brooklyn’s overrated. Are you a hipster?”

 “I didn’t think so,” Steve responded. “But I did go through a beanie phase, so maybe.”

 The corner of Strange’s lips quirked up. “Nice. Manhattan was always more my speed.”

 

 “I’m not surprised. You always seemed like a prick. What’d you do, wash windows?” Even as Steve said it, he knew it was wrong. Strange held himself like a CEO, not a laborer like Steve.

 “Brain surgeon, actually, but you were close.”

  
  


————————

  
  


 Strange’s house wasn’t a mansion, but it felt like it to Steve, who’d always grown up in the city, never living in the suburbs. The house was packed with bookshelves, with different desks and tables and reading nooks scattered around it. It had a strange… mystic feel to it, with decorations that looked like artifacts. The house had one thing going for it though:

 It was warm.

 Steve sighed in relief when he felt the heat. Fucking finally. He’d been an icicle for the past week at least.

 Strange uncuffed him, tossing the cuffs away like they were of no interest to him. “You can go wherever you want inside, and look at whatever you please. There are enchantments on the things you aren’t allowed, so you don’t need to worry about that. I don’t have any slaves, and that was a conscious choice, so don’t do anything weird and subservient. I’m going to work now, I don’t care what you do.”

 It was freedom. Steve had a horrible moment where he thought like Peter, and wondered if he could convince Strange to keep him. But he didn’t actually want that. At least, he was pretty sure he didn’t.

 Steve wandered around idly, taking his time. There were a few things he tried to touch that pushed his hand away, glowing a warning blue, but most were fine. He went through the bookshelves, catching books in both Russian and an ancient dialect. Then he found another shelf laden with books in English.

 Steve was frozen in shock for a moment, before grabbing one and running down the stairs two at a time. He almost died twice, but managed to keep his footing, sliding around the corner to where Strange was lounging, making notes on some parchment. He looked up. “Yes?”

 “You have an entire shelf of books in English. Bucky said that they’re rare.”

 Strange quirked his eyebrow, giving him an interested, almost teasing look. “He lets you call him Bucky?”

 Steve made a face, but Strange just brushed it aside, not making him answer. “Yes, well, they are rare here. Expensive too, dreadfully so. That’s why I get mine from Earth, and smuggle them here.”

 “You can go to Earth?”

 Strange made a confused expression. “Obviously. Heidrun traders went to Earth to collect you, didn’t they? The difference is that they went the legal route. I take a more… subtle route.”

 There were other routes to get to Earth. There were secret paths to get to Earth.

 Steve filed that information away for later. He intended to use it.

 “Why doesn’t Bucky go to Earth then? Instead of paying for more expensive English books?”

 “Steve, your Bucky just spent the past week unable to leave his bedroom. Do you really think he could handle the trip to Earth? Besides, he’s got painful memories there.”

 “Painful memories? Why?”

 Strange gave him that look again. “Because he was created there, of course.”

  
  


—————————

  
  


 Steve spent the entire afternoon and evening reading. It had been so long since he’d had this type of stimulation, and Steve knew that if anyone tried to take his books from him they’d have to rio them out of his cold, dead hands.

 One of Strange’s friends came over in the evening, a woman who smiled with her teeth and laugh a lot. It wasn’t a loud cackle like Valkyrie, but a nicer sound, pure happiness. Her accent was thick and Slovic, but if Steve had to guess she wasn’t from Midgard.

 “This is Wanda,” Strange introduced, when Steve came downstairs to see what the noise was about. “Wanda, this is Steve.”

 Wanda gave Strange an appraising look, like you dirty old man. Strange sighed.

 Wanda gestured Steve over causally and kissed him on the cheek, which Steve exchanged before sneaking into the corner to keep reading. On the couch, Wanda kicked the man. “I thought you didn’t want a slave.”

 “I still don’t. Steve’s an intern.”

 Steve snorted, trying to cover the sound with a cough.

 

—————————

  
  


 The next day, Steve was poking around the shelves when he found an entire row devoted to romance novels. He plucked up the first one— The Congressman’s Dominatrix— and read it, in full view of Strange. It was absolutely ridiculous, and a little uncomfortable, but he got into it faster than he’d expected. Some of the sex scenes were interesting enough that he found himself carefully adjusting himself in his pants. Three-fourths of the way through, he gave up and went to the furthest bathroom in the house to jack off.

 Strange was looking at him when he came back, but he didn’t say anything about it. “I loved that book. The character of Roseanne is incredibly well developed.”

 The book was about porn, not character development, but Steve nodded his assent anyways.

  
  


—————————

  
  


 Steve didn’t know how to feel.

 Doctor Strange was nice, and would answer his questions, but he wouldn’t touch Steve. After a few days of being trapped in the house, Steve was beginning to get even more desperate than before. He sat on the couch with Strange, close enough that he could lean or even brush against him, but Strange would just get up and leave.

 Sam had swooped into the farmhouse like the angel David, promising help and healing, and he’d taken Steve and put him right back in the same isolation as before. Steve wasn’t allowed to leave the house: “You’re not my slave,” Strange explained easily, “therefore people would talk if we were seen together without Barnes in the picture. Trust me, he’d hate that.”

 All it meant was that Steve had many more long hours to sit and think about his options. Strange made it clear that Steve was still in Bucky’s possession, just that he was temporarily out of the picture when Sam helped Bucky get out of his spiral.

 Steve thought about Bucky a lot. The way he acted like he was always right, and the way that he usually was. The way that he talked punishments through, and checked in with Steve.

 The way he grabbed Steve’s ankles and yanked them up, not talking it through, not explaining himself, just saying how many strikes and then going for it. The way Steve’s feet were still bruised.

 He thought of other things to: the way he kicked Bucky in the face, twice (oops). The way he tried to steal his phone and report on him instead of talking to him. The way Bucky was clearly sick.

 It hurt his head, because Steve knew all about abusive relationships, but people never talked about them like this. It was always clear who the problem was: there was a bully and a victim, and the bully’s transgressions could be mapped out like a highway. It was always clear, obvious abuse too: they raped the victim, or physically assaulted them. Bucky didn’t rape Steve, and he didn’t physically assault him either. He beat his feet, yes, but they had talked about it before and Steve had said that he was alright with it as long as he didn’t use a cane. If anything, Steve was the one who’d assaulted Bucky.

 Bucky definitely wasn’t innocent, but the word abuser felt too harsh. It also was different because they weren’t dating; there were power dynamics built into their situation.

 Thinking about Bucky just made Steve sadder. He hated his situation, hated that he had to think about this at all.

 

————————

  
  


 Steve was wrapped up in a blue blanket on the floor reading when Strange told him “Come over here, you have a call.”

 Projected over the kitchen table was an image of Sam. He was looking at someone off camera, and he smiled at them brightly. “Звучит хорошо, Peter. Просто убедитесь, что это хорошо смазано.”

 Of course: Peter spoke Russian. Sam taught him Russian.

 He looked at the screen, and his smile fell. Sam sighed, scratching his neck. “Steve.”

 “Sam.”

 “Okay, alright. Bucky’s been… getting better. His meds were wrong, and he ended up falling into a pretty deep depression again. But we went to the doctor and got it checked out, and now we’re working on a better plan. It’s not… it’s never just because of the meds, you know? But we’re coming up with a plan. It’ll be a few more days before you can come home, but I thought it would be good if you two talked. Today was rough for him.”

 Steve just nodded. He had too many questions to just chose one, so silence was better.

 Sam moved the camera over, talking to someone off camera. Steve caught Bucky’s voice, whiny and annoyed. “No, Sam, I don’t want him seeing me like this—”

 The camera was set down in front of Bucky, who groaned and complained in mumbled Russian. “Hey Stevie.”

 “You’re on meds?” Steve asked. Okay, apparently he could chose a question to focus on.

 Bucky looked a little bashful, but nodded. “Yeah. Antidepressants, anti-anxiety, anti-psychosis, anti-rejection meds for the arm, sleep aids, and one for my blood pressure.”

 Steve blinked. “Wow. That’s…”

 “A lot?” Bucky guessed.

 “Almost as much as I used to take,” Steve corrected. “Mine was mostly for my heart, though.”

 Bucky nodded numbly. “You look good, by the way.”

 Steve looked at the corner of the screen, where his own image was reflected back to him. His hair was messy, the blanket was still wrapped around his shoulders, and his ears were still pierced, even though Steve kept forgetting about them.

 “Thanks,” Steve responded belatedly. “You look like shit, but you always look like shit, so…”

 Bucky laughed, looking away. “Thanks.”

 “Anytime.”

 Bucky sucked in a breath. “Okay. I… will be feeling better soon. And then you can come home. I’ll get you a present.”

 Steve wanted to disagree, but he owned so little that he couldn’t. “Okay.”

 “I miss you.”

 “I miss you too,” Steve responded before he could stop himself. He did, he just didn’t know if he should admit to it. Apparently yes, judging off of the shy, pink faced smile Bucky flashed at him, doing his best to hide it.

 “Anyways,” Bucky said after basking in that a little longer, “what have you been doing with Strange?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of your comments have been so great! I’m so glad people are getting really immersed in this fic. 
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of this chapter! What is your current viewpoint on Bucky’s character?
> 
> Hopefully I can get the next chapter out before Christmas, but either way I will be trying to get something fluffy out on Christmas, so we’ll wait and see!


	16. The Touching

Bucky looked a little grimier, a little more tired than usual, but his eyes were clearer than they’d been before. His shoulders were slumped, but that’s how they usually were, like he was trying to convince everyone around him that he was human. 

 The house was cold. Bucky was wearing his cloak again, and all Steve wanted to do was burrow underneath it. They stood across the room from each other, with Sam at Steve’s side, guiding them through their new agreements. 

 “I promise not to isolate you without just cause,” Bucky said, his voice dry and monotone. “I promise to let you see other people besides me at least twice a week. I want you to be healthy, and I’ll try my best to do my part.”

 “That's great,” Sam said. “Now, Steve?”

 “I promise to keep doing the same exact shit I've been doing because I'm not the fucking problem.”

 Steve jolted at the sharp shock to his neck. He'd forgotten about the thin electric collar Sam had locked on him. “Let's try that again,” Sam said, like he was chastising a little kid. 

 Steve scowled. One of these days, he would get Sam good. Revenge for shocking him and fucking all of his friends. 

 “I promise to be obedient and take less drastic measures,” Steve says, placating. 

 Sam clapped, so loud that Steve flinched. “Alright. My work here is done. Good luck, I'm rooting for you!”

 He smacked Steve on his ass and got the hell out of there, leaving a little remote on the counter and closing the door behind him. Just like that, Steve was alone again with Bucky. He felt… a lot. He didn’t know what he felt, or what he was supposed to feel. He did know he was scared, but also… not. Bucky was dangerous, but he'd never… he didn’t…

 “I'm sorry, Stevie,” Bucky said, still across the room from him. “And I… meant what I said. About wanting you to be healthy.” 

 If Bucky was Steve's boyfriend on Earth, and they were equals, then he probably would’ve yelled and then left. Unfortunately, they weren't equals. Steve was very much trapped here, and he had two options: prioritize his dignity or prioritize his comfort. Only one of them would keep him warm. 

 Steve marched up to Bucky, grabbing the collar of his shirt and yanking him over to the couch, where he shoved him down. Bucky let him, though he did have to tense up to keep from defending himself. 

 Steve arranged Bucky's cloak artfully, then climbed onto the couch with him, wrapping himself up until he was surrounded on all sides by fur and soldier. “I'm cold as fuck and no one’s touched me for weeks. So sit down, shut up, and fucking spoon me because I am actually going to lose my goddamn mind.”

 There was a pause: Bucky probably deciding whether to get annoyed at being ordered around. Finally, he laughed and wrapped a powerful arm around Steve, kissing him on the head. “Alright. Shutting up is actually one of my greatest talents.”

 “Smart ass.” 

 They laid there for a while, with Steve doing his best wilted flowers impression and Bucky running his hands over his body, like he was trying to memorize every curve and divot. His hand snuck up Steve's shirt, feeling his stomach, pinching his flared ribs. His hand sneaked higher, pinching one of his nipples. 

 “Hey,” Steve warned, trying to push his hand away without much success. “Stop doing that.” 

 Bucky didn’t take his hand out of his shirt. Instead he pushed against Steve's chest, holding him down. He rocked against him, wrapping around him even more. “And why should I do that?” 

 Steve squirmed against him. “Because it’s my body.” 

 “Right. But your body is my property. Which means that I can do this--” he pinched the other nipple “-- as much as I want.” 

 Steve stopped squirming, something intrinsic inside of him refusing to fight any more. He was tired, touch-starved and achy. He was not here to enjoy himself, he was here to survive. 

 “What bullshit,” Steve muttered, letting himself be maneuvered. Bucky parted Steve's legs, sliding one of his in between them. “ _ Bull-shit.” _

 Bucky wrapped the cloak tighter, and Steve gave up, going completely limp against him.

\---------------------

  
  
  


 Steve was not one to give up easily. But when he did, he gave up hard. 

 In his defense, he hadn’t  _ actually  _ given in. He still intended to escape, he still wanted his freedom, his life back, even as it grew farther and farther away. He was just tired of fighting when all it did was put his freedom farther out of reach. In the long term, it would be much better for him to be trusted than watched. 

 And it was easier. Steve stopped his misery and forced thankfulness. 

 They spent a few weeks like that, with Steve being loose and compliant. He didn't fake his smiles and laughter, though oftentimes he expressed them in spite of other things. He was still a slave, and the lack of autonomy remained, but he was used to it. He could find a way to thrive. 

 And thrive he did. With the new regiment, Steve had the chance to talk to other slaves at least twice a week. He grew closer to the whole group, especially Pietro. He was also a laborer like Steve, not a pleasure slave, under the master Loki. Loki was harsh and could be brutal, but as long as Pietro did as commanded, he allowed him more freedom than Steve. He once even allowed him to go home with Steve and Bucky, giving the single instruction “Don’t hurt or fuck him too much. I need him to be able to work.”

 They did not hurt him, or fuck him. Steve and Pietro sat on the floor in Steve's sealed fish tank, and Steve showed him his precious journal. It was the first time anyone had ever seen the drawings in it, but Steve showed him the other things too: his attempts at writing and understanding Russian, and the back inside cover of it, which had been sliced open to make room for the coins Steve had pocketed. 

 “Sam teaches his slaves how to speak Russian,” Pietro said wistfully. “You're not going to learn it this way. You should ask him.” 

 Steve had thought of that, but whenever he was with Peter he tended to get distracted. 

 Pietro gave him a knowing look. “You and Peter,” he prompted. 

 “He's nice. A good friend. And a good kisser. But there’s nothing else there.” 

 “Good,” Pietro said, without hesitation. “Because if the only romance you have is when you use him for his body, you're no better than anyone else on this fucking planet. You're dog shit.” 

 Steve eyed him wearily, but didn't rise to the bait. He was right: Peter was already used for his body, his mind put on the sideline. He deserved someone who barely noticed his body. 

 Steve also didn’t respond because he knew that Pietro was trying to start a fight, mostly because Steve had spent so much time picking fights on Earth. There was nothing like a black eye and a busted lip to make you feel like you existed. 

 “You're right,” Steve agreed finally. “So what does he deserve? Someone like you?”

 “Fuck no. If you're dog shit then I'm horse shit. We are the sam, you see? You're just smaller.” 

 Steve cackled and shoved him, making Pietro’s lips part in a grin. “ _ Asshole!” _

 “I'm not wrong!” 

 Steve was still laughing. “You're not. So, who does he deserve?”

 “MJ,” Pietro answered simply. “She knows his past. Has shared life experience. And they're friends before lovers.” 

 “Sounds perfect,” Steve noted. “What's the catch?”

 Pietro leaned in, darting his eyes around conspiratorially. “Well, you didn’t hear it from me… but they're both slaves. So as long as they're on this shithole planet, their epic romance can only end in disaster.”

 “I'm shocked.” 

 Pietro shrugged. “All it means is that we have to get them off this planet.” 

 “And how are we supposed to do that?” 

 “Dunno. Shuri's working on a device to inactivate the shock collars, but that would only be a small part. We'd still need to run from our masters, avoid getting caught by others, and find a way back to Midgard.” 

 Steve gritted his teeth. It was… a lot. Too much. The likelihood that they could ever pull it off, and make it so everyone could escape, was very, very low. 

 Pietro sighed and leaned back on the ground. Steve followed his lead, checked to see if Bucky was watching automatically. He wasn't. 

 Pietro tangled their fingers together and Steve did his best not to stiffen. Was this one of the weird cultural things?

 Apparently not, because a moment later Pietro was on top of him, pulling him into a kiss. Steve kissed back automatically, his body still craving physical affection even as his mind was reeling. Pietro pulled back, his hands still on Steve's face and his eyes dark and intense. “Do you want me?”

 Steve squeaked. “Do I want-- want--”

 Pietro cooed at him, lowering his hips to press against his. “You and I, we are not pleasure slaves. We have to find release from other sources.” Then he was lowering himself more, and kissing along Steve's neck, around his ear, lips just brushing his hair. 

 Steve wanted to say yes. He very much wanted to say yes. Pietro was-- and he was-- and fuck, now that he mentioned it, Steve was definitely horny. Any other time, Steve would have said yes. Even then, he still wanted to say yes. 

 So what? Steve was an easy lay. As long as the person was respectful and wanted the same things, Steve was almost always open to casual sex. But this wasn't Midgard, and Steve glanced outside of the room, catching on Bucky sitting on the couch. Bucky was pretending not to watch, but he was definitely watching; Steve just knew it. 

 “Can't,” he rasped out. “Buck’ said that if I do, he'll put a cock cage on me.” 

 Pietro pulled away immediately. He didn’t get off of him, but he stopped the kissing, letting himself catch his breath with Steve's body still mostly pinned under him. “Oh, those are horrible. I had to wear one for a year once, something about disciple and knowing my place. It was horrible. I still pee like a girl.” 

 Steve raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

 “Yes, would you like to see?” 

 “I think I'm good.” 

 Pietro shrugged, like he didn’t care one way or another. “What are you allowed?” 

 “I… think that I'm not allowed to get any marks or have sex. He's fine with me kissing though.”

 Pietro adjusted himself on top of him with purpose. Steve's hands were by his head at this point, his entire body relaxed about the other slave's. “Oh really?” 

 “Yeah. Pietro, does Loki ever kiss you?”

 He let his tone fall teasing, and Pietro picked it right back up, tracing Steve's cheek with his fingertips. “Why no, he doesn’t.”

 “A shame. No one should go long without kisses.”

 “Indeed.”

 The both moved inwards and their lips met halfway. Pietro was a sloppy, uncoordinated kisser, but determined. They kisses aggressively, and the vigor reminded Steve of Peter’s kisses, but that was where the similarities ended. Peter was trained in the art of kissing, and though Steve genuinely believed Peter enjoyed it, he kissed for the sake of the other person. Pietro kissed messily and selfishly. It was delicious. 

 They were at it for a while, getting into it, until there was a sharp  _ tap tap tap  _ on the glass and Pietro lurched back, panting. Steve was breathing hard too, but grinning like a loon, even as he cleaned back to see Bucky standing on the other side of the glass, looking confused and concerned. “You’d been going at it for like ten fucking minutes. Don’t you need air?”

 “I was trying to suffocate,” Steve said, not completely making it up. “Asphyxiation by make-out.” 

 “If you have to go, that's the way to do it,” Pietro said helpfully. They were both speaking loudly so Bucky could hear them through the glass, but Steve got a feeling he was also trying to lip read. 

 Bucky made another face. “Well stop it. Stevie, you know what the rule is.”

 “We weren't fucking!” Steve promised. “Not even a little!” 

 “I'm ready to jizz in my pants,” Pietro muttered, and Steve kicked him. 

 Bucky shrugged, mumbled something, and left.

  
  


\-----------------------

  
  


 It had been weeks since the last party, so everyone was extra excited to be there. There was a hint of grief in the abandoned conference room where all the slaves congregated, but seeing everyone’s outfits made it a bit better. It was Steve's first Christmas away from home, but at least he got to see Gamora wrapped up in multi-colored Christmas lights. 

 Though no one had planned it, they all came bearing gifts. Steve gave Shuri some parts from the barn that he'd salvaged (read: stolen), and in return he got a book from Peter. It was a hardcover, and on the front it read “The Benefits Of Two Distinct Social Classes: Why Captivity Is The Best Policy”. 

 Steve made a face. “Thanks.” 

 Peter laughed at him, and slid down the front cover. Underneath a very different color was revealed: “The Principles Of Russian”. 

 “I heard you wanted to learn it,” Peter said, his ears tinted a little red. “So this is the book Sam gave me to learn it. I finished it, and it's not like I'm fluent yet, but I mostly have it down, and you can look stuff up in the back. Listen, just make sure you don’t tell Bucky about it. If Sam finds out I gave it away, I'll be skinned alive or something.”

 So not only had Peter given him a gift Steve had so desperately wanted, but he had put himself in danger to do it too. Steve forced himself to swallow his emotions, and accept the book. “Thank you, Peter. I promise I won’t let you down.” 

 They hugged, and Steve was hit with a wave of  _ everything will be alright.  _ Something about Peter just radiated it. Steve almost didn't let go. 

\-------------------

  
  


 Steve was so fucking obedient. He did his work, didn’t complain, didn’t push his boundaries or try to test Bucky. And in return, he was rewarded: Bucky eventually gave him couch privileges. They were almost pointless, because Bucky was constantly laying on the couch with him, but they were nice to know anyways. 

 Winter ended as quickly as it started, and though it had felt infinite, it had actually only been about two or three months. Spring was upon them. This meant Steve was back in charge of feeding Fenris, and on the first half decent day of the year, Bucky announced it was time to start planting. 

 Planting meant Steve's hands and knees got dirty. It meant that Steve had to keep an ear out for Fenris, his body always tense, ready to run. It meant soreness. But it also meant that Steve had something more to do besides learn Russian, or draw, or hold still so Bucky could tie him up in new and exciting ways. The week before, Bucky had tried suspension, which was equal parts nerve wracking and uncomfortable. Bucky never moved away from him and never gagged him, touching him and talking to him and checking in, making sure everything was still good, but it didn’t mean the experience was pleasant. The only positive that came out of it was that Steve got lots of physical touch. He was pretty sure he was addicted to it by that point. It didn’t matter whose touch it was, or what it felt like. Steve was desperate for it, and though he didn't want to give in to Bucky's touches, he couldn't help it. 

 Bucky had been getting much more touchy too, and Steve knew exactly why. It had been about a week before Christmas when the cold was absolutely un-fucking-bearable, to the point where Steve couldn't even sleep. He'd fought the urge for hours, but finally gave in. 

 He pounded lightly on the glass wall, calling out “Bucky?” until the man himself showed up, looking gloriously disheveled. Steve hoped like hell that Bucky didn’t try to rape him, because if he did then Steve would probably beg for more and he wasn't sure if his pride could take it. 

 Bucky had asked what was wrong and Steve had clasped his arms tight against his chest, more from the cold than anything else, and begged “I'm  _ so  _ cold. Could I please sleep with you tonight?” 

 Bucky had stared at him for ten long seconds before bursting into motion. The door unlocked and Steve literally jumped into his arms, half expecting to fall to the floor, but Bucky caught him. His body was warm and firm, and he carried Steve like that, depositing him on his own bed. Bucky only had one blanket, but it was lined with some sort of thick fur, and Steve nuzzled into it. Bucky had held him the whole night.

 And the night after that. 

 And the night after that. 

 They continued sleeping together for every night after that, even when it started getting warmer. Steve knew that it was bad, but it gave him something he had gotten very little of in the past months: comfort. Cuddling was like talk therapy on steroids. 

 Sometimes they talked, too, not only at night but throughout the day. After his breakdown, Bucky had worked through some things and wasn't quite as closed off anymore. 

 “Sam told me that you were born on Earth,” Steve whispered one night, when they were both breathing but neither of them was sleeping. 

 Bucky’s breath caught. “Not born. Created. We should go to bed.” 

 “What do you mean, created?”

 Steve expected him to evade the question, to run away from it like he always did when confronted with something. Maybe it was the dark, or maybe it was something else, but he didn’t. “I was created to work for an organization called Hydra. They made me the way I am, and I don’t remember anything from before.” 

 His voice was scratchy with emotion, so Steve scooted closer. He twisted their legs together under the covers, touching Bucky with his hands, hoping it was soft and comforting. Bucky's flesh hand traced down his arm, stroking it sweetly. They were close enough to see each others eyes, each other's mouths in the dark. 

 Steve smoked softly. “Why did they create you?”

 “To kill people,” he answered, so devoid of emotions a chill was sent down Steve's spine. The reality of his situation hit him like a tank; he wasn't cuddling with a friend, or boyfriend, but in bed with the man who  _ owned  _ him, a man twice his size and five times more powerful, a man who, apparently had blood on his hands. 

 “How many?” Steve whispered, already dreading the response. 

 “I lost count,” Bucky drawled. His eyes were somewhere else, and he kept on stroking Steve's arm, unaware of the way his arm hair was standing straight up. “I was assigned target lists which I completed. Oftentimes, there was collateral damage. There's no way to truly track that.” 

 It had been weeks since Steve had last panicked, but he was on the edge now. How many times had he reassured Peter  _ no, he’s a pussy, he would never hurt a fly _ ? How many times had he convinced himself that this man was not to be feared? He was bigger than Steve, yes, and he had infinite power over Steve's life, but Steve had still been sure that he was human. 

_ Just a farmer, _ Bucky had reassured him.  _ I'm just a farmer, and I just wanted an extra set of hands for the harvest. I don’t want to hurt you.  _

 What bullshit. What pigshit. What, what, what--

 “Stevie,” Bucky murmured, low, dark,  _ dangerous. _ “You're heart is beating too fast.” 

 Steve looked up at him. Bucky's eyes were no longer unfocused but  _ intense _ , staring right at Steve like a predator that had found its prey already weakened. Bucky grabbed his arm and Steve flinched horribly, the motion so violent it would have been impossible to hide. 

 “Stevie,” Bucky ordered, sitting up and pulling Steve with him. “I need you to breathe.  _ Breathe.” _

 Steve  _ was  _ fucking breathing. He was just breathing too fast. Bucky was a killer, and Steve was in his bed, and Steve was in  _ danger- _ -

 “Hey,” Bucky said, commending and reassuring at the same time. “I got out of it, alright? It was a long time ago. Now I'm a farmer; I'm  _ just  _ a farmer.” 

_ I don’t do that anymore,  _ was what he meant. Cute. A-fucking-dorable. Steve believed him too. Of course he believed him. Steve would believe him all the way up to the point where Steve was murdered in cold blood, because  _ old habits.  _

 “Why do you have a gun then?!” Steve gasped out, definitely hyperventilating now. “Why do you carry it, why do you carry it if you're not going to kill anybody--”

 “I'm a citizen soldier,” Bucky explained patiently. “Most chose to hide their weapons, but I don’t give a shit.” Steve flinched hard at the cuss word, and Bucky pulled him close to his chest, unaffected. “I haven't killed anyone in years, Stevie. And I'm not about to start now.” 

 That meant almost nothing to Steve. So what. So what. So what. 

 Steve wanted to turn and run. In another situation, maybe he would've. But he couldn't. Not only was Bucky holding onto him, but Steve had nowhere to go. Running meant disobedience. Disobedience meant less freedom.

 And Steve already had so little freedom left to lose. 

 Instead, Steve buried his head in Bucky's chest and took horrific, humiliating comfort in the warmth of him. He could feel the man's firm chest beneath his shirt, and Bucky rubbed his hand up and down Steve's back. 

 Eventually, Steve fell asleep. In the morning he awoke with Bucky still snoring beside him, like nothing had happened. 

 Maybe nothing had happened. 

 After that, Bucky was extra trusting, and extra touchy. And Steve was extra obedient. 

 He stared at the gun a lot more, though, and he wondered how many lives that specific weapon had taken. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought, and Merry Christmas!


	17. The Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another one you’ll want to read until the end ;)

 Steve was wearing a long sleeve shirt and pants. Steve was wearing. A long sleeve shirt. And pants. Underneath the clothes was a thin chest harness and a cock sleeve, both put there not because they needed to be but because it would remind Steve of his submission. His collar today was a thin metal loop, and his shirt collar was high enough that it could be pulled up to cover it. 

 This was Steve’s Christmas present. It had been postponed a few months until Bucky was sure that he was ready, because this was the type of thing they could not screw up. 

 Bucky was taking him to Earth. 

 For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Steve was wearing real shoes, not those clothes things that he tied up his ankles. He’d been given converse, and granted they were one size too big which would doubtlessly make them impossible to run in, but still. When Steve looked in the mirror, he looked almost like he used to. The only thing that gave him away was the haircut, and the desperate look in his eyes. 

 Before they left, Bucky sat down on the couch and pushed Steve to his knees in front of him, ordering “hands behind your back, lean forwards, look at me.” It was a test, Steve knew. If Bucky got any sign of disobedience, that was it. The trip would be cancelled. Simple as that. 

 So Steve did as he was told. Bucky took his face in his hands, holding him firmly so he couldn’t try and pull away. The position was just another reminder of their size difference: Bucky’s hands were huge on his face and he towered over him, big and bulky in a way Steve could never, ever be. 

 “You are not to try to escape,” Bucky said, as serious as he’d ever been. “You will stay as close to me as possible. You will be obedient, or we will leave. You will follow all of your preset rules, or we will leave. If you try to tell someone about what’s going on, or try to escape, all I have to do is press one button and your collar will give you shocks so bad it will mimic a seizure. I will then take you home, and you will be given an extreme punishment. Do you understand?”

 Steve swallowed. He tried to look down, but Bucky’s grip on his face didn’t waver, forcing him to look up again. “What’s an extreme punishment?”

 “It is not something you would forget,” Bucky promised darkly. 

 Steve had expected as much. “And what do you mean by follow the same rules that are set here? You don’t want me to kneel, or anything, right?”

 Bucky shook his head. “We’ll be blending in. No kneeling, no calling me master. But you will need to be submissive and obedient at all times, or—”

 “We’ll leave,” Steve finished for him. “Okay.”

 Bucky leaned down, whispering “Are you going to be obedient for me, little slave?” 

 When Steve first got to their planet, the words and the pet name would have made him feel sick. They didn’t anymore. It was a poison he’d grown a tolerance to. 

 So Steve just leaned his forehead against Bucky’s with a whisper of “Yes Master”.

 They took the public trucks in the opposite way from the city, getting off after about ten minutes and taking a left, walking down a smaller dirt road until they reached a hut half buried in foliage. “I’ve only does this once,” Bucky admitted. “But Strange told me this may be a good gift for you, so I hope you like it.”

 He knocked on the door to the hut, Steve hovering at his shoulder. Steve wrung his hands, trying to take in everything about the place. He probably wouldn’t get the chance to escape today, but if he remembered this place…

 The door opened, revealing a man even bigger than Bucky. He was huge, broad shouldered, and wore armor and a cape, his blonde hair long enough to hit past his shoulders. “Can I help you?” He asked, voice deep and accented. 

 “I’m here to use the passageway,” Bucky said in a monotone.

 The man nodded and let them in. The hut was only one room, a giant fireplace with two chairs sitting casually in front of it. The man sat in one of the chairs, and the other was already occupied by another huge man, this one with dark skin and glowing golden eyes. 

 “I am Thor,” the first man said, “And this is Heimdall. Have you travelled to Midgard before?”

 “Yes.” 

 “Do you understand the customs?”

 “Yes.”

 “And do you understand that if your slave is found as such—”

 “ _ Yes _ , I understand. Steve, tuck your collar in.”

 Steve did as he was told, hiding the metal loop underneath his shirt. It wasn’t obvious as a collar, and even if it was revealed, it could easily pass for a normal, human accessory. 

 Steve glanced around the room, trying to get more information. There was a sign on the wall behind them that Steve squinted at. It was some sort of checklist, and Steve tried to read it with his limited Russian ability. 

_ Necessary… only… slaves… _

_  Necessary… alone… slaves… _

_  Necessary… for alone slaves.  _

__ Requirements for slave’s traveling alone. 

 Steve’s heart sped up in his chest. Slave’s could travel alone? What master would allow that? And more importantly, how could Steve convince Bucky to allow that?

 The man with the golden eyes was watching Steve very intently. “Payment?”

 Steve glanced at Bucky, who was pulling the pre-counted coins out of his pockets and counting them again. His hands were shaking, and for the first time Steve remembered what Doctor Strange had said. The reason Bucky didn’t go to Earth often was because he could hardly leave his house sometimes, so going to another planet? Bucky must be filled with enough anxiety to have a heart attack. 

_ Am I really going to do this?  _ Steve wondered, watching Bucky check the money, hands trembling all the way.  _ Am I really this bad of a person? _

_  Fuck it. Yes I am.  _

__ Steve stepped a little closer to Bucky and let his ankle give way, throwing his whole body weight into Bucky’s outstretched arms, forcing him to drop the money with a loud clatter on the floor. Bucky caught him swiftly, and Steve exclaimed “Shit!” He immediately dropped to his knees, crawling around and gathering up all of the money. Bucky didn’t help; he’d turned a light shade of green, like he might be sick. “I am so sorry Master, I didn’t mean to, please forgive me—”

 Steve counted the money as he collected it. One rose gold coin (which he hadn’t seen since Bucky’d used some to buy him; they must have been worth more), two medium silvers, and five large silvers. Steve handed them back to Bucky, bowing his head in shame. 

 “Don’t do it again,” Bucky mumbled out, almost a growl, and Steve would have been more worried if it weren’t for the situation. Bucky was getting cagey, and it wasn’t because of him, it was because of the situation. 

 Steve returned to Bucky’s side, bowing his head as if in shame. Bucky gave them the money silently, and after counting it they directed him to the fireplace. Bucky took Steve by the nap of his neck and herded him to the fireplace, not slowing down as they got close. Steve swallowed. “Are you sure—?”

 Bucky threw him into the fireplace, and Steve went straight through it, falling on his hands and knees on the other side. He gasped. They were in some sort of rain forest, dark and mystical. Trees rose high above his head, so high he couldn’t see the toos, and everywhere he looked things glowed green and purple. 

 Bucky stepped into this reality with him, looking guilty when he found Steve on his knees. “I shouldn’t’ve pushed you like that,” he conceded, helping Steve up.

 “It’s okay,” Steve’s replied quietly, in too much awe to really think about it. “What… where…”

 “Come on. We have walking to do.”

 They were on the only path in sight, heavily packed soil beneath their feet. Bucky immediately started marching forwards, and Steve did his best to follow, gaping at everything they passed. The jungle was alive around them, a,most loud with crickets, and hoots, and the hissing of snakes. Steve had no doubts that if he stepped off this path, he would be pulled in by the jungle and would never, ever be seen again. 

 They walked for a while, keeping up a brisk pace for maybe twenty minutes until they finally reached the end of the curved, twisting path. They stopped at a big wooden door, seemingly attached to nothing, and Bucky turned to look at him. “Are you going to be good for me?”

 Steve stepped closer, slotting his body in beside Bucky. He rested his chin against his big, solid chest, looking up at him through his eyelashes, and whispered “Yes Master.” Bucky stroked his fingers through his hair a few times, and Steve creeped at the touch, even if his heart was pounding by what would come next. 

 Finally, Bucky stepped back and pulled the door open. On the other side there was a forest, but not a mystical inner-dimensional forest like what they’d been in. This one was sparser, and day,ohh the streamed in from all around them. Steve took in a deep breath of air. 

_ Earth.  _

__ He was home. 

  
  


————————-

  
  


 It was only a short hike out of the woods, and then just like that they were in a town. Steve was pretty sure they were in a small American city, but besides that he wasn’t sure. 

 Bucky took his hand then, interlacing their fingers and holding on tight. Steve swallowed. Right. He wasn’t here on his own, or even with a traveling companion. He was here as a prisoner, except he had to pretend and play like he wasn’t. 

 He couldn’t help staring at the people they passed. Finally, there were normal-sized people, and kids! Steve hadn’t seen a kid since he’d been on Earth. 

 He asked Bucky why that was and he shrugged with one shoulder, eyes scanning like he was preparing for an attack. “The community we live in on Heidrun is adult-only. Most of the large slave communities are. They prefer to keep kids away because of the sexual nature.”

 Steve nodded stiffly. Bucky tugged on his hand, pulling him away. 

 They wandered around the streets, people brushing past them like they were all the same, like they were equals, like it didn’t mean anything. No one knew the truth, no one knew what the grip on Steve’s hand or the weight around his neck meant. Steve watched them with a mixture of horror and shame. He was still wearing the cock sleeve under his clothes, not to prevent a bulge but to remind him of his place. That morning Bucky had cuffed him to the headboard and stripped him of his pants and underwear, touching his dick and balls and putting him in the fabric, and Steve didn’t struggle. He didn’t even need to be cuffed; he wouldn’t have struggled either way. 

 The people around him would have struggled. They would have screamed, would have kicked. If they failed to escape it, they would have been filled with shame. Steve didn’t feel any shame when it was first put on him. 

 What was he? Steve had thought that he’d go to Earth and see all the people and think  _ Yes, MY people.  _ But instead he saw them and wondered how he was ever like that. They were filled with purpose, they acted on their emotions, they lived freely, full of vigor and pride. Steve had none of that. If they were humans, what was he?

 He looked up at Bucky, still holding his hand tight and surveying the crowd like he thought someone might pick a fight. Bucky was wearing a disguise today; it couldn’t be called anything but that. No mask or googles. Just jeans, a few layers of jackets, and his long hair pulled back in a bun. He was of Earth too, but he wasn’t human. He was a citizen of Heidrun. 

 Was that what Steve was?  _ No.  _ He knew that answer immediately, deep in his soul. But if he wasn’t of Heidrun, and he wasn’t of Earth, what was he?

 The oversensitivity started quickly after that. With every step, Steve became more and more aware of the oversized shoes, the cock sleeve, the harness underneath his clothes, the collar around his neck. A slave, not a real person. An object. Here he was, on earth, just where he’d wanted to be for months, and he was still an object. An accessory. A pet for Bucky to walk with, well trained and obedient, so good that a leash wasn’t even necessary. Not good enough though, to take away the collar, because then the dog might run, and no one wants that. The dog is submissive; the dog couldn’t survive on its own. The dog is reliant. The dog is  _ compliant. _

__ Steve kept on getting lost in thought and being tugged back to reality by Bucky. Finally, Bucky pulled him off to the side, took one good look at him, and dragged him to a bus stop. They sat on the bench and Bucky manhandled him to press his face against Bucky’s shirt. Bucky stroked his hair, shushing him calmingly. “Let it out. It’s okay; I know it’s a lot baby, I know.”

 Steve shook, letting his face contort horribly, like he was going to weep, but no tears came. He just pressed his face harder against his chest, clenching and unclenching his hands. 

 “Is he okay?” Someone behind him asked. Bucky dug his fingers in Steve’s hair, holding him down. 

 “Yeah, just a little overwhelmed. He’s got anxiety.”

 “Ahh. Is he your friend, or…”

 “My boyfriend, actually. He’ll be fine.”

 Steve didn’t have to look up to know that Bucky was giving a threatening look, like  _ ask another question, I dare you.  _ Bucky could lie at the drop of the hat, but he couldn’t hide his constant misery. It made Steve happy despite himself. 

 He recovered soon after that, and Bucky checked in with him before the continued going. “Head high,” He said. “You have no reason to feel shame. You’re better than them all, got it? You know something they don’t. They think they know everything, but they don’t. You have knowledge over them; act like it.”

 It was bittersweet, but the pep talk worked. Hadn’t Steve always longed for adventure? If this experience wasn’t an adventure, he didn’t know what was. 

 So he help his head high, squeezing Bucky’s hand back. He didn’t just have power over the people here, but over Bucky. Bucky was used to forcing Steve into being submissive, either by using restraints or a leash or their clothes. On Heidrun, it was clear that Bucky was the one giving orders, and Steve was the one following them. But that wasn’t the case here. Here, everyone expected them to be equals. There was stores of power there; Steve just had to take them. 

 So he started leading. Bucky figured out what he was doing pretty early on, and he gave Steve a warning look, but Steve ignored it. “Come on, slow poke! I’m hungry, let’s eat.”

 They went into a little restaurant and Steve tried to get a table with two chairs opposite each other, but Bucky pulled him harshly to a booth. He had Steve get in first, and then he got in beside him, effectively trapping him. Steve scowled down at his cutlery before arranging his expression into a calm one. 

 Bucky took a menu and Steve did too, holding on tight when Bucky tried to pluck it away from him. “At least let me read it,” Steve whispered, and Bucky allowed it. 

 When the waitress came over, Bucky ordered for the both of them: a sandwich for him, and grilled chicken for Steve. “Actually,” Steve cut in, “I think I’ll have a cheeseburger.”

 Bucky looked at him, wide-eyed in mock worry. “But sweetie, what about your lactose allergy?”

 “I’ll be fine. A cheeseburger, please.”

 The waitress left before Bucky could correct her. He didn’t look at Steve, but his hand slid over his thigh under the table, grabbing on and digging his fingers in. “What happens when you’re disobedient?”

 Too late, Steve’s heart dropped. Right. He was getting comfortable, and he wasn’t allowed that. “We got back.”

 “Do you want to go back?”

 “No.”

 “Then fix your attitude.”

 Steve nodded, opening his mouth for a  _ yes master  _ before he remembered and bit his tongue. Bucky sighed, wrapping his arm around Steve and pulling his to his side, stroking the back of his neck with one finger. “You’ve been so good lately. I know you didn’t mean to be disobedient.”

 “I didn’t,” Steve agreed, doing his best to look like a good little submissive. 

 They ate without any problems, and Steve asked to go the bathroom halfway through. He’d hoped Bucky would let him go alone, but obviously that wasn’t happening. The bathroom was a one stall only, so they both went in and Bucky locked the door behind them, quickly kneeling before Steve and helping him with his clothes and then the cock sleeve. Steve used the toilet, washed up, and then Bucky did the contraption up again for him, pressing a kiss to his hip before standing.

 After lunch, they went to a used bookstore. That was where Steve’s demeanor changed entirely. He didn’t want to be bad; he wanted to be good, because then he got freedom. Then he got  _ books.  _

__ Bucky let him loose finally, giving him a budget of fifty dollars to buy whatever he wanted. The store was tiny, so it wasn’t like Steve could do anything without Bucky seeing, but he didn’t care.  _ Books.  _

__ He only bought the cheapest books, stretching his budget as far as he could. When he was done, he had a stack of books so big he had trouble carrying them all himself. Bucky laughed, and checked them out for him. 

 Bucky held the bag of books in one hand, and Steve’s hand in the other. The swung their hands happily, like real boyfriends. Steve spotted a Starbucks and begged that they go in, even though they’d just eaten. There was no way he could go to Earth again and  _ not  _ get junky commercial coffee. 

 They got drinks and Bucky lead them to a couch, sitting down and making Steve lay on it, head against the armrest. It was a show of pda, though Bucky probably didn’t recognize it. Steve chose to ignore it, sipping his drink. 

 “Is it good?” Bucky asked after a moment. 

 Steve nodded. “Missed this. It’s not the same as the one back home, but… at the same time, it is. Same paintings. Same atmosphere.”

 Bucky hummed, looking around. “It is nice. My coffee has too much sugar, though.”

 Steve snorted. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” 

 Steve was practically sitting on Bucky’s lap, so Bucky cuddled up a little more, stroking his arm. Steve leaned into it. He may not be free, but this wasn’t bad. Bucky took care of him. He respected him, he gave him the freedom to cuss, the freedom to be honest. Steve had his role to play, but didn’t he also have to play a part on Earth? He couldn’t just be Steve, he also had to be smart, and artsy, and whatever. If he thought about it, he was almost as constrained on Earth as he was on Heidrun. 

 They went back soon after, and though Steve was glad he got to see Earth, he missed Heidrun a bit. There, he didn’t have to be touching Bucky every second of every day. He had his space; another thing he had to be thankful for. 

 Back at the farm, Steve was glad to see Fenris and the barn. The geese had come back the week before, and though Steve still didn’t know where they went, he was glad to see them. That random city on Earth wasn’t his home. This was. 

 Over the next few weeks, Steve started a new mission: belonging. He didn’t belong on Earth anymore, but he was sure that with enough work, he could belong on Heidrun. So he started working. He started trying harder to learn Russian. He woke up with the sun, and told himself how thankful he was. He kissed Bucky’s forehead when he got out of bed. He was in charge of how he acted, and he was done being miserable. 

 Steve didn’t tell the other slaves about Earth. That was in his past; this was his present. It was time to stop thinking about it. 

 He got more tattoos, dark bands around his arms and a little design behind his right ear. Bucky kissed him there every night and Steve grinned and wrinkled his nose, batting at him playfully. 

 He had a life. He had a purpose. He was a slave, but he wasn’t an object. Or if he was, then he could learn to be happy like that. 

 He and Bucky went to the city for fun and he tried on whatever clothes Bucky handed to him, forming his own opinions and voguing for him. The clothes were revealing, sometimes, but Steve was in charge of whether they were submissive or not. Submission wasn’t an outfit, it was a state of mind. Submission came from a hunched posture, quiet, respectful words. So Steve stood tall. Chin up, shoulders back.

 He found that he liked the harnesses with straps that ran down his spine, and accessories that made his shoulders look broader. He wore dark, heavy leather like armor. He walked at Bucky’s side, not at his back. When he was leashed, the leash never went taut. 

 There was strength in his new way of life. It was as if everything he did, he did because he wanted to.  _ Bucky says we’re going into town today? Good, I think I need to anyways. Bucky says to kneel? My legs  _ were _ starting to get tired. Bucky says to take off my pants and lay down? Meh, why not? _

__ Steve made jokes. He smiled. He gave his opinion about his outfits, and he and Bucky found compromises. Steve was happier than he’d been in a while, and Bucky was happier than Steve had ever seen him. He smiled whenever he saw Steve; not a little, hidden smile, but a real one. Steve brought him joy. Bucky was a good guy; he deserved it. 

 Steve could be happy here. He would find a way to be happy. 

————————

  
  


 Steve kneeled at Bucky’s feet, pretending not to listen to the discussion he was having with Strange. Steve’s arms were patterned with black armbands, and his harness today was made to look like a skeleton’s rib cage. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, so his back tattoos were completely exposed. His hair was freshly cut, trimmed short on the sides and long on the top, like a Mohawk, except his hair was flat on top, not spiky. It was the same style as he’d had for the past year, just a little longer on top. Bucky spent a lot of time each week stroking his hair, petting him like a beloved family animal. 

 He had no gag; he had no cuffs; he had no restraints at all. He had no leash. His shoulders were covered in a fancy black leather piece. It was regal, like the shoulder epaulettes of soldiers. 

 Bucky’s hand strayed from his hair down to his neck, fingers twisting in the O-ring on his collar. Steve let himself be maneuvered, his head tilting back to kiss Bucky’s hand. Bucky leaned down to kiss his head. 

 “You ready to go be with the others, little slave?” Bucky whispered. His hands, even the metal one, were warm on Steve’s skin. 

 He nodded, and Bucky let him up, touching his ass briefly on the way. Steve didn’t mind. It was just part of the dance. 

 When Steve got into the conference room, he froze for a moment, staring at two of Sam's slaves in the middle of a blowjob while MJ filmed dispassionately. She gave Steve a little wave before going back to it. 

 Steve plopped down next to Peter, staring for another few moments before taking his eyes off. “Hey. How've you been?” 

 He smiled. “I've been really good. Sam's started taking me more places, like, restaurants and stuff. It’s good. It means he’s liking me more for emotional needs too, not just sexual. It'll make me harder to replace.”

 Steve smiled at him, even though mentally he was doubting how good that actually was. He was so glad that Bucky was his master, and not someone like Sam. Steve was secure in his position. “I'm glad for you,” Steve said. 

 Peter gave him a knowing look. “You know, Bucky could get tired of you too.” 

 Steve felt his heart lurch in his chest. The idea was less than unappealing. “I know. But it's not like I could anything about it.” 

 Peter gave him a look like  _ don't be stupid.  _ “You want my advice?”

 “Sure.”

 He leaned in conspiratorially. “Bucky likes you. I know you don’t want to have sex, but--”

 “Oh, jeez. You know not everything is solved by whoring yourself out, right?” 

 Peter went pink, looking hurt. Steve started to correct himself, by Peter stopped him, shaking his hurriedly. “I know that's always my solution, but there's a reason for that. It’s because it works. And, for the record, things were different on Earth, but we're on Heidrun now.” 

 Steve nodded, an apology already on the tip of his tongue. “Okay, I appreciate--”

 “Man, just let me finish. Look, Bucky likes you. You couldn't just do sex with him. If you ever start falling out of favor with him, a really recommend trying the boyfriend experience. I have a feeling Bucky will latch on tight to that.”

 “Yeah, well.” Steve scratched his head. “I'll keep that in mind, okay?”

 Peter nodded and leaned against him, done being serious for the night. Steve chuckled and wrapped his arm around him. “You tired?” 

 Peter went limp against him, cuddling up closer. “Yeah. I spent all last night sucking dick.”

 Steve made a face. “Ew.” 

 Peter laughed, tilting his head up to see Steve. Steve wondered if he was being submissive on purpose, or it that was just what came naturally to him. “Cuddle me?” 

 Sitting up a bit more, Steve pulled Peter closer, so he was sitting in his lap. “I thought I was already doing that?”

 “Mmm. No. That was just touch. This is a cuddle.” He slumped lower, laying between Steve's legs with his head on his chest. “You look good, you know? You look happy.” 

 Steve grinned down at him, his arms wrapped around the boy's torso. “Yeah? I feel good. Happy. Healthy. I'm… content.”

 “Mmm. Good for you.” Peter leaned up and caught Steve in a kiss, and they stayed like that, kissing slowly at that angle for a few moments before Peter decided that wasn't enough. He crawled on top of him, straddling Steve and tugging the kiss deeper. Steve made a noise into his mouth, running his hands over his back and wrapping around his waist. 

 Peter flipped them over, crawling up his body to kiss his neck, careful to avoid marking him. Steve moaned, rutting up against him for a moment before containing himself, grabbing Peter's shirt and yanking him into another kiss. 

 There was some noise behind them, the other slaves taking notice. Steve didn’t have to check to know that they were being filmed, but for once, he didn't care. Let them film. Let them see. He had no shame. 

 They rolled over, the kiss getting rougher. Peter grabbed onto the straps of his harness and pulled him closer, Steve's own hands wandering. He ended up digging his fingers into the hair at the nape of Peter's hair, using it to deepen the kiss even further. He spread his legs, straddling Peter's hips and grinding down. 

 The kiss was rough and dirty and  _ perfect.  _ They pulled at each other, grinding down with almost punishing pressure, swallowing down each others noises. 

 There was more noise behind them, and Steve tuned in with the 15% of his brain that wasn't focusing on Peter. Gamora had apparently arrived, and was introducing them. 

 “...that's Pietro, the one who’s drunk off his ass in the corner. And that’s MJ, with the camera. Say hi MJ.”

 “Hiiiii.”

 “And the ones sucking face are Steve and Peter. Peter’s our resident whore, but Steve’s just a labor slave. Guys, this is the Bitch.”

 “My name’s Natasha,” she snapped, and Steve almost choked. 

  
 He shoved away from Peter, breaking the kiss and landing on his ass. He was red-lipped and half hard, wearing the harness and leather getup, and had just been necking with another boy on the floor, only minutes away from fucking. And there Natasha was, standing with her hands on her hips and frowning down at him.  _ “Steve?” _


	18. The Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter!

 They sat in the hallway, away from the other slaves. Steve tried not to stare, but it was nearly impossible. Natasha looked so different from how he remembered her that he had to take a moment to wonder if he was just remembering wrong, or if she’d really changed that much. But no, he was sure they were all changes that had come from her time as a slave. 

 The first thing he noticed, really noticed, was her hair. Natasha was a natural redhead, her natural shade right in between red and orange, but now it was even redder, like it had been dyed over just to make it a shade different. She was wearing makeup too, not her normal subtle makeup, but intense, dark makeup, with big dramatic eyes, and dark red lips. She wore a sleeveless turtleneck with a red harness over it, the type that wrapped around her chest and encircled her boobs. Her skirt was red and leather, shorter than she’d ever normally choose. Steve wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen so much of her legs. 

 He winced in sympathy when he saw her heels. They were horrifically tall, the type that wasn’t meant for walking but to impede walking. It was a wonder she’d made it all the way here. Then again, not really: Steve had always been in wonder when it came to Natasha. 

 “So,” she said, pulling out a pen and spinning it around her fingers, “You got tattoos.”

 “That I did.” Steve was glad to have something to say. It had been months since he’d seen her— 8, maybe? 10?— and he wasn’t quite sure how to react. He’d missed her like he would miss an arm, but he couldn’t forget the humiliation of the situation she caught him in. He turned, giving her the full view of his back. All of his tattoos were visible through the harness. “I designed the wolves, but I’ve never been able to draw the type of flowers I wanted, so I let Okoye design it. Oh, Okoye is—”

 “I’ve met her,” Natasha cut him off, her voice edged with bitterness. “And your arms?”

 He turned back around, holding his arms in front of him like he was about to get arrested. He tried for a mischievous smile. “Each band is for one person I’ve killed.”

 She didn’t look impressed. “Only six?”

 Steve laughed. He nudged her with his foot, giving her a knowing look. “How’ve you been doing? You like Valkyrie?”

 “Not even a little,” Natasha answered, like they were just talking about a sucky manager, and not the one person who had supreme rule over everything Natasha. “This entire system is corrupt. It’s a wonder their entire society hasn’t collapsed yet.”

 Steve swallowed. “Alright.”

 He wasn’t sure what to say after that. Make a sex joke? That was what would work on one of the other slaves, but he doubted Natasha would appreciate it. Luckily, he didn’t have to think of something, because Gamora stormed out then, practically chucking a water bottle at Natasha. “Hey Red Scare, Val wants you to stay hydrated,” she spat, like the words were poisonous

 “Eat my ass,” Natasha retaliated, matching her fury. 

 “I already did. Do you know what it tasted like? Second place.”

 Natasha threw the water bottle at Gamora, who dodged it. The cheap bottle exploded against the wall, leaving a huge water stain. “My bad,” Natasha mocked, “my aim hasn’t been the same since smelling your crusty vagina, but you know, toxic fumes will do that to you.”

 “Go to hell.”

 “I’ve been in hell since the first day we met!” 

 Gamora stomped away, slamming the door behind her. 

 Natasha leaned against the wall, staring miserably at the water stain. Steve blinked. “Wow. You know, I’d heard that you two didn’t like each other, but—”

 “She’s in love with Valkyrie,” Natasha accused, still staring straight ahead. “That’s why she hates me. I’m a threat to her oh so precious ownership.”

 Steve felt his stomach drop. “That’s… messed up.”

 “It’s disgusting,” Natasha muttered. “She’s a garbage person.”

 “That seems a little… extreme.”

 “I’m not wrong. You have to be some kind of low to even think about your master that way. This isn’t some fucking romance novel; they own you. You can’t have love without safety, and you can’t have safety without freedom.”

 Steve swallowed. “You grew up in communist Russia.”

 She turned to him, leveling him with her all too familiar glare. “And I left. Hence, freedom.” 

 Steve sighed, leaning harder against the wall. “Don’t be too hard on her. We all deal with it in different ways.”

 “How do you deal with it?”

 Steve gave her his own glare, but there was no anger behind it, only tiredness. “Don’t ask me that. Look, let’s just talk about something else. I bet you have a lot to say about the public transportation here.” Back home, Natasha had been the queen of public transport. She knew everything about every single bus and train system in the state, including prices. She thought that individual transport, like cars, were wastes of money. Things had been so simple then. “It’ll be like old times.”

That seemed to finally get Natasha to deflate. “It can’t be like old times. I’m wearing a fucking collar, and I can see your nipples. What, does your master not believe in shirts?”

 Steve tried to laugh, but he couldn’t make himself. “No. He just likes…” there was no good end to that sentence. He just likes fashion? He just likes dressing Steve up like a short, emo Ken doll? 

 Natasha accepted it as an answer regardless. “Oh. You got a ‘he’. I’m sorry.”

 Steve looked at her, trying to understand what she meant. “What? Why are you sorry?”

 “Nothing. Just… it must be worse. You have my sympathy.”

  Steve could feel his defenses rise. “What is that supposed to mean?” Natasha looked at him like he was an idiot. Steve’s face grew hot. “He doesn’t fuck me, if that’s what you mean. I’m not a pleasure slave.”

 “A pleasure slave,” she scoffed. “Wow. That’s one way to spin it. You mean a rape doll?”

 “That’s… disgusting,” Steve decided, wrinkling his nose. 

 Natasha nodded, like that was exactly her point. “If you are at your best when you’re still and compliant, letting them do whatever they want to you, then you’re a rape doll. I’m one. At least, Valkyrie wants me to be one. I don’t get there unless I’m drugged, though. I guess no one expected us to come here as fighters.”

 Steve felt even sicker. He didn’t want to admit it, but he couldn’t take that kind of credit. “Nat… you should know something. I’m, um. I didn’t fight.” 

 Her glare was harsh and accusatory. “What do you mean.”

 “I mean… I did, at the beginning, you know? But… I stopped. It’s better this way. It’s better to be…” obedient, but he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t. 

 Something flashed across Natasha’s face, something miserable, but she quickly trained her expression. She looked away, too ashamed to meet his eyes. Her voice was quiet when she asked “How long did it take for them to break you?”

 “I never broke,” he defended, “I just realized this is better! Come on, don’t tell me you’ve never given in. You have. Everyone here has. It’s the way of this world.” 

 Suddenly, the idea of staying sitting any longer sounded impossible. He stood, pacing back and forth. Natasha stood too, but leaned against the wall, flipping the pen around her fingers. “I haven’t,” she almost whispered. “Not once.” 

 Steve stopped pacing immediately. The guilt was rushing in; Steve should have done more, he should have tried harder, he should have fought until he was bloody and bruised. The fact that he didn’t was a testament to his character. He was weak; this experience had taught him that. He was no better than what everyone wanted him to be.

 Natasha cussed and peeled off her heels, dropping them on the ground beside her. She leaned one foot against the wall, fiddling with the pen. “What’s his name.”

 Steve picked at the harness covering his chest. It had been covering enough before; why did he suddenly feel exposed? “Bucky. He’s from Earth too.”

 “Sick fucking bastard,” she muttered, and before Steve could stop himself he was storming towards her. He managed to hold himself back just enough though, curling his fists at his side. 

 “You’ve never met him,” he said, trying to push down his automatic defensiveness. Steve couldn’t say he agreed with some of the things Bucky’d done, but there had been days when it felt like him and Bucky against the rest of this strange world; he couldn’t just let her insult him with no basis for it. Natasha was giving him a harsh, analytical look, and Steve tried desperately to explain himself. “He’s… he’s got brain damage. And trauma, from… his childhood. Like you. He’s like you. You’ve never even met him; don’t label him before you meet him.”

 “I've met one, so I've met them all,” she sneered. 

 “Don't make assumptions,” Steve snapped at her. “You've been my friend for how long? You should know that you don’t make assumptions.” 

 She stepped closer, so they were almost chest to chest. “You're right, I know not to make assumptions about you. I know that just because you're short, it doesn’t mean you can’t fight. Which is why I'm so fucking disappointed that you gave in without even trying like a worthless, soulless fucking doll--”

 Steve didn’t even hesitate before taking the first swing. She blocked it with her forearm, not even surprised, and shoved him backwards. Steve stumbled, but didn’t slow down. He slammed his foot into her leg, making her fall back. He pinned her, punching without restraint, his fists making contact with her mouth, and her cheek, and her nose. She threw him forwards with so much force he hit the wall with the corner of his forehead, screaming in frustration through gritted teeth. He turned, but she was already there, punching him hard in the eye. His head snapped back, but he didn’t have time to process or deal with the pain. He grabbed her hair and yanked hard, making her hiss and hit him with the blade of her hand, but he didn't let go until she managed to twist his hand away roughly. From there, any technique was gone. They fought like animals, tearing at each other. They didn’t fight because of what they'd said, they fought for the sole purpose of hitting someone and drawing blood. 

 Okay, that wasn’t completely true. Steve was genuinely pissed. He'd been happy, he'd been settling into a comfortable routine, and then Natasha had to come and ruin it. 

 He got in a lucky swing, slapping her hard across the face. “You were supposed to be on Earth! You were supposed to stay safe!” 

 “You were supposed to not be a fucking asswipe!” She screamed. “Where's the Steve Rogers I knew? That's right, he's groveling. I'm surprised you even remember how to fight, you fucking coward!”

 Steve slammed into her, shoving her against the wall with back breaking force and trapping her there, hands on his shoulders like he wanted to physically shake sense into her. “I hate you I hate you I hate you--!”

 She stomped on his foot with enough force to make him cry out in pain. He slammed her back against the wall, his fingernails digging into her skin, blood smeared around her nose. They shoved at each other, punching and kicking, neither having room to gain momentum nor dodge, meaning that every hit landed, but neither of them fell. 

 “Fucking coward!” She screamed.

 Steve's fists pounded against her brutally, hit after hit after hit and he was screaming, miserable in his pain. How dare she call him that? How dare she say such things? How dare she be here? She was never supposed to be there. She was never supposed to be there!

 Steve screamed again when he was pulled off her. He was ripped away with brutal force, spun around and shoved back against the wall with horrible, angry force, only a few feet away. Bucky loomed above him, huge and dark, his face covered by shadows. He was wearing his mask, and Steve was pretty sure that was what the face of death looked like.

 Bucky's hand was wrapped around his throat, not just holding him there but squeezing, metal against skin. Steve grabbed on tight, choking for breath, but he didn’t let up. Finally, Steve managed to garble out one single word: “Please!”

 Bucky stepped outwards and threw Steve across the room like it was nothing. Steve skidding and rolled across the floor, coming to a stop with his cheek pressed against it.   

 “Get up,” Bucky commanded behind him, his voice without tone but commanding nonetheless. It took every muscle in Steve's body to stay there. 

 Then he was being pulled up roughly by his hair, making him scramble for some sort of grip. Bucky forced him to crane his head back, eyes wide as he looked at Bucky's face. 

 “How dare you,” Bucky said, furious despite his hidden expressions. He pulled Steve's head back to the point of discomfort, pulling it so far that Steve struggled to breath. “How dare you harm my property like that. How fucking dare you, slave.”

 Steve was furious. He tried to spit at him, but before he could finish the action he was being thrust down again, on the floor once more. Bucky knelt next to him, pressing his knee into Steve's back as he made quick work of Steve's wrists, binding them together tightly. Not cuffs, but a strip of leather, like a belt, pulled tight and buckled. Not hard to get out of if he had help, but Steve got the feeling no one would be helping him now. 

 Steve's cheek stayed pressed against the floor, but he looked out at what he could see of their audience with his swollen eye. The slaves were gathered around, though most of them were standing behind their masters, trying to get a better view. From where Steve was, he could see Pietro, Peter, and Gamora. Pietro was standing stiffly, his master nowhere in sight, but the knowledge of the others surrounding them keeping him on his best behavior. A few steps away was Peter, looking guilty as hell, and like he might burst into tears. He was half hidden by Sam, who rubbed his back absently. With Sam's other hand, he held loosely onto Gamora’s collar, even though he wasn't her master. She didn’t try to escape, or fight. She just stared down the hallway, as if hoping someone would walk down and save her. Quill, maybe. Her knight in shining armor, who just couldn't handle it. 

 Stevens vision was limited, but he could hear the sounds of the struggle. Natasha, yelling and cursing Valkyrie out viciously. The sound of electricity, and her screams increasing. Valkyrie retaliating angrily, in a language that was neither English nor Russian, and Natasha sobbing. After a moment, her sobs slowed, like she was no longer fighting. Steve wondered if she'd given up, or maybe, if it was some cocktail of drugs she'd been given. Valkyrie had made it very clear in the past that she was not against abusing substances. 

 Bucky shifted behind Steve. His body was huge and looming, and with his hands cuffed and the fight drained out of him, Steve was completely helpless. Limp, like a doll. Easy. Compliant. 

 Bucky pulled him up to a kneeling position. He held his finger in front of Steve, moving it like he was checking for a concussion. Then he felt Steve up and down, touching and groping him and watching to see if twitched or winced. Steve didn’t. He just tilted his head up, baring his neck to the ceiling. What do you want from me, he asked, what the fuck do you want from me.

 The hallway had mostly cleared out by then. Valkyrie, Natasha and Gamora were gone. Peter talked fast to Sam, looking on the verge of panic.

 As for Steve, he was kneeling, on the ground, his hands bound behind him, his face bloody. Bucky holding him upright. Bucky holding him captive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter included...  
> \- The fight between Steve and natasha  
> \- Steve's punishment back home (the chair, and then the bed, and then the no-touching-the-floor)  
> \- Steve panicking about the collar
> 
>  
> 
> Please comment and tell me what you think and what you did/didnt like about the chapter! Thanks for reading :)


	19. The Fight Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be part of the previous chapter, but there was a posting error. Either way, here it is!

 

 There was something humiliating about being paraded through a party, his wounds and binds on full display. It was nothing in comparison to the fear that shot through him when they got back to the house, though.

  
 Once they were both inside, the door was closed and locked. Bucky pulled a chair out from the table and for a moment, Steve thought that he was going to make him kneel on the table again for a beating. Instead, Bucky grabbed him by the straps of his harness and dragged him to sit in the chair. Steve sat, too afraid of the consequences of disobeying so directly. Bucky bound his hands to the back of the chair and spread his legs, cuffing his ankles to the legs of the chair.

  
 Steve looked away, listening to Bucky’s footsteps as opposed to watching them. Bucky moved around the kitchen a little, turned on the sink, and then was walking back to him, murmuring “Let me see.” Steve jerked his head away from his touch, but Bucky just grabbed his face and forced him to turn his head, tilting it just so so he could see the forehead cut. He carefully cleaned it, his hand obscuring Steve’s vision for a moment. Next, he dabbed at his lip, still holding Steve carefully in place.

  
 He crouched at Steve’s side, looking him over. “Now. Where else are you bleeding.”

  
 There were other spots, sure, but Steve didn’t want to tell him about them. He looked away, clenching his teeth.

  
 Bucky grabbed his chin again, glaring at him harshly. “Now is not the time to go nonverbal. Talk to me.”

  
 Steve wrenched his chin from his grip. Bucky just reached around, pushing into a point on the back of his neck that made him crane his head hard to the side and bite his lip. It was just a pressure point, and the pain mostly came from discomfort, but it left Steve trembling lightly. Bucky stared at him, waiting.

  
 Finally, when Steve doesn't say anything, Bucky lets go. Steve gasps, relieved.

  
 Bucky doesn’t press anymore, just starts stripping Steve. Steve can't do anything about it, but he refuses to give in without any sort of fight. He wriggles against his binds, letting out the occasional grunt or hiss when his efforts are met with pinches or prods, but he doesn't stop.

  
 Bucky takes off the shoulder piece first, leaving Steve feeling incredibly naked even though it had just covered his shoulders and neck. With that gone, Bucky attached a collar, this one thick and undoubtedly electrified. Steve can feel the dull metal barbs digging into his skin.

  
 Bucky takes off the harness then, and Steve realizes for the first time that these leather pieces were all designed with the ability to take it off without ever having to move your arms. They were designed to be able to put on and take off of someone who was already restrained.

  
 Steve faught a little more when Bucky took off his pants. For that, he had to uncuff him, but the cuffs were back on the moment the pants were gone.

  
 Finally, Bucky raised a cloth rag for Steve to see. “I'd give you a ball gag, but I don't want to hurt your lip anymore. Open up.” He pried Steve's jaw open without having to try, gently stuffing the cloth in. It went nearly to the back of Steve's throat, making him gag for a moment before it was adjusted.

  
 “This is because you didn't want to be obedient and answer when I asked you questions,” Bucky explained patiently. His fingers were still in Steve's mouth, prodding at the gag lightly. “I'm going to leave you here to think for a little while, and then when you’re ready to talk, just call for me through the gag, alright? That way, you’ll have to ask for permission to speak, like a good slave.”

  
 Steve growled at him through the gag, and Bucky turned and left, climbing onto the couch with a book. Steve was left mostly naked, wearing only the stupid revealing underwear. It was humiliating, made even worse by the fact that he couldn't close his legs from the ankle cuffs.

  
 He tried to slow his breathing. The gag didn’t allow for much air movement, but he still found himself exhaling into it. Having his mouth filled like that was both comforting and frustrating.

  
 He finally let his mind wander back to the party. Natasha was a slave, and must have been for about as long as Steve. She was a pleasure slave for Valkyrie, who was apparently also a fan of dressing her up.

  
 And she'd hit Steve. And worse, he'd hit her.

  
 It wasn't the first physical fight they'd ever gotten in. They were both very physical people, both preferred punches to words in most situations. Steve scoffed at the absurdity of it all. He was supposed to be pissed at her, but he couldn't help but think fondly of the fight. He'd been waiting for so long for a good, bloody fight, and he'd finally gotten it.

  
 Finally, after it had been dark for hours and Steve was more than just a little uncomfortable from the positioning, Bucky got up, closing his book with an air of finality. He marched over to Steve, and Steve couldn’t help the fear that darted through him. Bucky was, as always, a lot bigger than him. Steve was still tied up. Bucky could do whatever he wanted to him— would do whatever he wanted. Steve was just a slave.

  
 Bucky ended up crouching next to him, undoing his cuffs and pulling out the gag. He looked up at him, his dark eyes asking more from Steve than what he could give. “Are you going to be good for me?”

  
 It took all of Steve’s energy not to respond. He was so used to saying yes, yes, yes master please master that now, even minor defiance was an effort. He stayed still, and after a moment Bucky exhaled, displeased.

  
 Instead of letting him walk, Bucky scooped him up and carried him into his bedroom, dumping Steve on the bed. He cuffed Steve's hands to the bed frame then pulled his ankles down, making it so he had to keep his arms extended. Bucky left and came back a minute later, stripping to his boxers and climbing over Steve.

  
 Steve had a few comments he wanted to make on his position tonight, but he was still under his vow of silence. “I'm tired,” Bucky muttered, looping his arm around Steve's waist and tugging him closer. Steve tried to wriggle away, but with his arms locked above him it was impossible. It may have been impossible even with the use of his arms; Bucky’s grip, while not uncomfortable, was unbreakable.

  
 He watched Steve struggle with a fond expression. “You're cute when you do that,” he said softly. There was no reason to raise his voice with Steve pressed against him. Steve made a face, and Bucky smiled, scratching him under his chin affectionately. “That face. Annoyed, but still wanting to please.”

  
 I don't want to please, he wanted to grumble, though he kept quiet. He wasn’t sure how true that statement was.

  
 Bucky pulled him closer, rolling him over like it was nothing so he could press his front against Steve's back. Finally, Steve went limp, relaxing against him. He was tired, even though he didn’t think he'd be able to sleep. There was too much to think about.

  
 Soon, Bucky was breathing heavily against his neck, clearly asleep. Steve struggled against his bonds, double checking that he wouldn’t be able to slide them off.

  
\-------------------

 

 The next morning, Bucky climbed over Steve and left him there, still cuffed.

  
 He came back a few minutes later and unclipped the cuffs from the bed, but kept them on. “Part one of your punishment is staying cuffed and where I put you for the rest of the day,” Bucky commands roughly. His hands aren’t overly gentle as he pulls Steve up and carried him into the bathroom, but they also aren’t overly rough. “You're not allowed to touch the floor without my permission.”

  
 Steve stays silent. They go into his bathroom, and Bucky places him in front of the toilet, pulling down his underwear with pause. Steve struggles against him, but the metal arm clasps his cuffs and holds his hands above his head. With his other hand, Bucky takes his cock. “Now piss. We don’t have all day.”

  
 Steve gritted his teeth, pushing back against him futilely. “I can piss without your help, thanks.”

  
 “The longer you put this off, the longer my hand stays on you,” Bucky threatens, giving Steve’s cock a little jerk. Steve hisses and leans back against him, hoping he can feel the compliance even if Steve refuses to say it outloud.

  
 He tried, then, but it’s nearly impossible. It's too invasive for him to manage. Eventually Bucky sighs and lowers Steve’s hands, putting them behind his head like a prisoner. The metal chain dug into his neck, right above the collar. “Keep them there,” Bucky threatened, and the response came naturally:

  
 “Yes master.”

  
 Bucky paused, thinking it over. Then he nodded, and brought his metal hand down to press against Steve’s stomach. He hissed, but he hadn't pissed the night before and he was due. Finally, he manages to pee, with his hands behind his head and Bucky holding his cock.

  
 Bucky tucks his cock back in the underwear and washes his own hands, but not Steve's; there’s no need. Then Bucky is bringing him back into his room where the bed they slept in the night before is still rumbled.

  
 He grabs a piece of cloth and tosses it to Steve. “Put this on.”

  
 It's a pair of panties, Steve realizes. The underwear he's been wearing could be called panties, maybe, but with this, there's no doubt. They're a light salmon pink with lace detailing, designed so there is enough room for his cock and balls, but less than he'd prefer.

  
 “No,” Steve says, shocking himself with how firm his voice sounds.

  
 Bucky is unamused. “Put them on or go naked all day. Your choice.”

  
 Steve puts them on. As soon as he does, Bucky is clipping a leash to his collar. The end of it is attached to the bed frame. “No touching the floor,” he reminds. “I'll go get breakfast.”

 They eat, and then to Steve’s surprise, Bucky climbs back into bed with him. He sets up some pillows and arranges himself so he's taking up most of the bed, reading. Steve manages to hold out for a little while, but finally he gives in and slouches against his chest, sighing wistfully.

  
 “You're so good,” Bucky mutters. “So good for me.” He trails his hands up, pinching each of Steve's nipples.

  
 “Stop that,” Steve complains, too late. “I'm not a pleasure slave.”

  
 Bucky hums. He takes Steve's still bound hands in one of his, holding them out of the way so he can see his nipples. “Maybe not specifically. But you are my slave. My property. I don’t need specific permission to touch you.”

  
 He pinches extra hard for emphasis, and Steve feels guilty for the way he gulps, back arching.

  
 “I'd like it if you get these pierced,” Bucky decides. “Bars, not hoops. Bars look nicer, but you can’t complain about the functionality of a hoop. But it’s your choice. I won't force you.”

  
 Yeah, like fuck he won't. Steve does what Bucky wants, when he wants it. No exceptions. Bucky makes sure he complies.

  
 “You could get pierced,” Steve says, trying to change the conversation. “I'm sure Okoye has some ideas.”

  
 “Yeah, no,” Bucky says, his tone amused, but reeking of finality. “I could get another tattoo though.”

  
 “You could get a full sleeve,” Steve agreed idly, nuzzling into his chest.

  
 Bucky gave him a strange look. “You know, I still don’t understand you. You go all quiet and angry at me, and then a few minutes later all I have to do is talk about piercings to get you cozy again.”

  
 Steve stiffened, because oh shit, right, he was supposed to be giving Bucky trouble. He considered it for a few moments before giving in and resting his head on his chest again. “Don't ask me. I don't get it either.”

  
 Bucky rubbed his back, his hand warm and comforting. “You wanna tell me what happened last night? Although if I'm being honest, I'm kind of into the badass look.” He tilted Steve's chin up, getting a better view of his split lip, scabbed over temple, and black eye. The skin around his eye was mostly red and swollen, but it wasn't too bad. It wasn't even close to the worst black eye he'd gotten.

  
 Steve blinked at him, still doing his own self-assessment. “Yeah, sure you like me looking badass. As long as I'm also wearing panties though, huh?” He snapped his own elastic waistband for effect.

  
 The worst part was, Bucky didn't deny it. Steve swallowed, looking away. “I met Valkyrie's new slave. Her name's Natasha; I used to know her.”

  
 It was a gross under exaggeration. They'd been best friends for years; ‘I used to know her’ didn’t cut it. But Steve didn’t feel comfortable sharing any more.

  
 “Oh,” Bucky said, his hand resting on Steve's back. “So you let her beat you up?”

  
 “Hey, I beat her up too. It was a mutual beating.”

  
 “Equal opportunity.”

  
 “Yeah.”

  
 Bucky shifted, and his hand fell lower, playing with the lace trim of the panties. Steve looked away, trying his best to ignore it. Obviously, Bucky could do that if he wanted to. He could do whatever he wanted.  

  
 “I'm glad Val didn’t get you,” Bucky said after a few moments of silence. “I mean, she still probably would’ve chosen a girl, but I'm glad I took you away from all that. Who knows who you could've gotten if I hadn't been there.”

  
 Steve could've gotten a girl. A different guy, maybe one like Sam. He could've gotten someone who just wanted a pleasure slave. Or maybe, someone who actually wanted a labor slave, and just that. It should've been appealing, but the fear of the unknown was enough to make Steve's stomach twist.

  
 He decided to change the subject. “Why did you chose me anyways?”

  
 Bucky took a long moment to answer. “There was a good reason and a bad one.”

  
 “Tell me both.”

  
 “The good reason was that I saw you and thought you didn’t look like you would deal well in a really rough house. I thought my lifestyle could be good for you.”

  
 “And the bad?”

  
 He inhaled. “You were the smallest slave there. I knew that it would be nothing to push you around if I needed to.”

  
 “You're bigger than all slaves,” Steve argued. “It'd be nothing to push any of us around.”

  
 Bucky shrugged. “I hadn’t left the house in a week. You looked as small and meek as I felt.”

  
 The insult churned in Steve's stomach, like he'd swallowed acid and now it was burning it’s way through him. He tried to move away a little, but Bucky grabbed a handful of his panties and pulled him back. His hand rested high on Steve's back, pushing him down.

  
 “You wanted honesty,” Bucky defended.

  
 “Yeah, but I also didn't want to be treated like shit,” Steve complained. “Get off me. I'm not here to be made fun of.”

  
 “That's right,” Bucky said, but it was a lot more menacing than it maybe should've been. He stuck a finger in between Steve's skin and the collar, pulling it tighter. “You're not here to be made fun of, you're here to serve.”

  
 Steve's face was pushed down, his cheek pressing against Bucky's chest forcefully. Steve stayed silent, just focusing on his breathing what with the tension of the collar, but Bucky tapped his ear, a threat. “Repeat it.”

  
 Steve’s throat fluttered. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I'm here to serve.”

  
 “What are you here to do?”

  
 “I’m here to serve.”

  
 “Who are you here to serve?”

  
 He swallowed. The tension on his collar hadn't eased up, and it was uncomfortable talking against it. “I'm here to serve you.”

  
 “In what? On the farm? In bed?”

  
 “Whatever-- wherever you want. I'm here to do whatever you tell me too.”

  
 “And to do it obediently,” Bucky added, tugging on his collar in a smooth, suffocating rhythm, “obediently and quietly and respectfully.”

  
 “Obediently and quietly and respec--” Steve choked on the word as the collar was pulled tighter, completely cutting off his words. He couldn't breathe.

  
 Bucky slapped his thigh. “Finish it.”

  
 “Respectfully,” Steve rasped.

  
 

\--------------------

 

 Steve stayed by Bucky’s side for most of the day. He wasn't allowed to do any of his chores, instead forced to fulfill his role through other means. He became Bucky's lapdog, something to pet and acknowledge vaguely, but not much more. He kept the couch warm, and when Bucky sat on it he moved to keep Bucky's lap warm. He was not allowed to change out of the panties. He was not allowed to touch the floor. He was not allowed to be willful.

  
 After the sun had set, Bucky allowed Steve to finally touch the floor again. Steve did, appreciating the privilege and feeling shitty that something like walking had suddenly become a privilege. Steve went to the bathroom, looking over his wounds in the mirror. He'd iced his eye some, and it was opening all the way but was still surrounded by red bruises. His other wounds were fine. Skin deep.

  
 A sudden urge hit him so hard that he almost fell over. He grabbed at the collar, finding where it clamped together in the back and pulling at it. He hissed through his teeth when the metal dug into the soft flesh of his neck, but he didn’t stop. He kept twisting, trying to find the latch. Where was the latch? There had to be a latch!

 

 He almost screamed in frustration. The noise came through his teeth, muffled, but still loud. He backed all the way up to the wall, bumping against it in his scramble. There was no latch, nothing, nothing! Bucky had put a collar on him that wouldn't be able to be taken off! Steve was owned, owned because of papers and owned because of the tattoo on his back and owned because of the metal in his ears, and now, now, now he was owned because of the metal around his neck. It was implanted into his skin, it trapped him, it burned him--

  
 He slammed his head back against the wall, hard. Pain shot through him, and he reared his head back to do it again, again, again--

 

 The fourth time, his head didn’t make contact. It hit something else, and then he was being pushed forwards. “Steve, the hell are you doing?!”

  
 “It's stuck! It's stuck, get it off get it off get it off!”

  
 “Stevie, calm down! Stop thrashing!”

  
 Steve felt a pressure on his neck, and he screamed his voice hoarse trying to get away. Then, just like that, the collar was off. He ducked under Bucky's arm and went running, grabbing a jacket on the way out the house. He ran barefoot through the grass, not crying and not screaming, just running. The cold air whipped against him, but it was good. The sweat on his neck went sharp and cold, and it was good. It was good.

  
 He yanked the jacket on and zipped it up, giving him some modesty. It was one of Bucky’s, one of the many jackets he layered up with when it was cold and they weren't leaving the farm.

  
 Steve got to the barn and started climbing the tree next to it, ignoring the stinging against his bare legs. The bark scraped against him, but he couldn't care. He couldn't. Wouldn't.

  
 He squirreled along a branch, climbing onto the barn and hiding out of view. Bucky couldn't get him there. He couldn't climb the tree. He couldn't get him.

  
 Steve pulled the sweatshirt tighter around him, trying to ignore the burning cold. He curled up, laid down. Slowed his breathing. Went to sleep. He had no plans, no strategies for what needed to be done next, he just knew that right now, he couldn't go back to Bucky. He couldn't.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've asked before, but since we're almost at 20 chapters I'm going to ask again: what are you here for? The world-building, the Steve/Bucky storyline, the slavery storyline, etc? Please be specific. This really helps me with making decisions on future chapters. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and thanks for your comments! Get ready for things to get shaken up again in the next chapter! 
> 
> (Also, recently a commenter suggesting a certain someone in this fic get stabbed with a knife. Any objections/suggestions?)


	20. The Gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for more discussion of suicide.

  Steve woke up when it was still dark outside. Steve recognized the pre-dawn light. During harvest, he’d probably be waking up soon, getting ready to go outside and get back to his weeding. They’d planted more crops a few weeks ago; Steve’s farm duties should be resuming before long.

  
 Steve sat up groggily, running a hand through his hair. His bare legs were freezing, though the sweatshirt was warm. When he moved, his foot hit something soft, and Steve quickly looked over to investigate. There was a little bundle of rolled up cloth; sweatpants. They hadn’t been there before.

  
 Careful to keep from making any noises, Steve crawled to the edge of the roof and peered over. Sure enough, Bucky was sleeping on the ground below him. A blanket was draped over him, but he was using his metal arm as a pillow.

  
 Next to him, Fenris Wolf sat up and looked at Steve, his big black eyes shining dangerously. Steve gritted his teeth, getting ready to retreat, when Fenris started barking. Steve squeaked and scrambled back, hiding from both potential threats. He pressed his back against one of the outcroppings of roof, forcing himself to calm down. Fenris was just a dog. He was dangerous, but he couldn’t jump onto the roof.

  
 “Steve?”

  
 “Shit,” Steve said, then clamped his hands over his mouth. Now Bucky would know that he was awake.

  
 “Steve,” Bucky repeated, sounding more tired than anything else. “I... tossed you some sweatpants. Are you wearing them?”

  
 It was too late to try and hide; Bucky already knew he was there. “Oh, so now you want me to wear pants,” Steve said, letting his voice ring with annoyance. “How the tides have turned.”

  
 “It’s cold,” Bucky defended.

  
 He wasn’t wrong. Steve took the sweatpants, looking them over. He didn’t want to take anything from Bucky, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of doing something for Steve, but… it was cold. This wasn’t the hill Steve wanted to die on.

  
 He put on the damn pants.

  
 “Do you wanna come down now?” Bucky asked. He didn’t sound dangerous, like he sometimes did. Instead, he just sounded placid, calm and a little upset, like he was trying to work through something. Steve couldn’t help feeling relieved. He could deal with Bucky like this. It was when his voice was louder, threatening, that Steve had to tread with caution.

  
 Feeling more confident, Steve crawled back to the edge of the roof, looking down. Fenris immediately spotted him, letting out a single bark, but Bucky just patted his head and he calmed down. Bucky was sitting on the grass, looking a little peeved but still not dangerous.

  
 “I’m not coming down,” Steve declared.

  
 Bucky raised an eyebrow. “And why not?”

  
 “It’s not safe. You’re not safe. I’m protecting myself.”

  
 Bucky rubbed his forehead, stressed. He looked like this wasn’t the first like something like that had been said to him. “Well, you can’t just stay up there.”

  
 “I’m not planning on it. I’ll come down, but I have conditions.”

  
 “Great.”

  
 Without thinking about it, Steve grabbed a pinecone and chucked it at him. It surprised Bucky enough to make him flinch, and then he was glaring up at Steve.

  
 “I have conditions,” Steve repeated, matching his aggression. “Before, you told me we would keep communication open. You said you would talk punishments through with me and make sure they’re okay. You didn’t do any of that! I’m still super fucking hurt from the fight, and you gave me a punishment that strained my arms. We made an agreement, and you broke that.”

  
 Bucky stared up at him silently, listening. When he was sure Steve was done, he proclaimed “I own you. I can do what I want.”

  
 “No you fucking can’t,” Steve snapped. “I’m a human, I have autonomy. I don’t know what the fuck you are now, but I’m pretty sure you used to be human. You’re no better than I am.”

  
 Bucky huffed. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was doing that. But you didn’t tell me I was doing anything wrong. I’m already guessing at how all of this works; don’t make me guess what you’re thinking to.”

  
 “Then don’t fucking gag me!”

  
 “You were only gagged for a few hours, and that was after you went nonverbal on me! If you want communication, then you can’t just stop talking to spite me!”

  
 “I didn’t go nonverbal to spite you, I went nonverbal because I just saw my friend from Earth and realized she was going through the same Hell that I’ve been going through!” He yelled, refusing to pull his punches. He was done with being pretty, and sweet, and quiet. “And she’s been going through it alone. She has no one.” Steve sucked in a breath, focusing himself to focus on what the current problem was. “But that’s not the point. The point is, when I go nonverbal it means I’m not okay. If you tie me up after that, I’m going to get really fucking not okay.”

  
 Bucky hesitated. “...Okay.”

  
 Steve frowned. “‘Okay’?”

  
 “Okay,” Bucky repeated. “I didn’t know that. I thought you were just being disobedient. I’m… I won’t do that anymore.”

  
 Steve wasn’t expecting that. “Oh. I mean… good. Don’t.”

  
 Bucky finally stood, crossing his arms. “I can only barely understand my own mind; I definitely don’t understand yours. I’m just guessing. I’m going to fuck up.”

  
 “That’s not my problem,” Steve argued. “You need to get your own shit together. I’m not here for that.”

  
 “No, you’re here because I want you here. You’re here to follow my orders— whatever orders I give.”

  
 Steve shook his head. “No. I’m not a dog.”

  
 It was becoming clear that Bucky was getting more angry now. “No, you’re a slave. Act like it.”

  
 “You’re a human,” Steve retaliated. “Act like it.”

  
 Bucky hissed through his teeth. “What do you wa—”

  
 “I want you to stop being demeaning,” Steve cut him off. He leaned further against the roof, closer, trying to pick out every single detail about Bucky in the morning light. His master. His oppressor. But not for long. “I need you to stop calling me your boy, or your pet, or your slave.”

  
 “You are my slave,” Bucky objected.

  
 “It’s still demeaning as fuck,” Steve continued, not giving Bucky the chance to stay more. “And I want more privileges. I want couch privileges, without question. I want to choose my own clothes when we’re staying in. No, not just that; I want to buy my own clothes for at home. You can still dress me up for when we leave, but I deserve to at least be comfortable in my own home.”

  
 Bucky cocked his head to the side, challenging. “And why would I do any of this? You have no leverage. I don’t have a ladder around, but I sure as hell can get one. One way or another, you’re getting off this roof today.”

  
 “Oh, I know that. That’s not the leverage I was thinking of.” The idea had been brewing in Steve’s mind for a while; weeks, probably, but never before had an opportunity like this presented itself. “You will follow my requests. Otherwise, I’ll kill myself.”

  
 Bucky’s eyes went wide. “What?”

  
 “I’ll kill myself,” Steve repeated. He could feel adrenaline rushing through his system, heart pounding, but he wasn’t scared. He was vindicated. “If you keep dehumanizing me, I’ll kill myself. Just like Quill.”

  
 “There were other factors with Quill,” Bucky growled. He hesitated. “You wouldn’t.”

  
 Steve snarled. “You wanna bet?”

  
 “I’ll stop you.”

  
 “Maybe you’ll postpone it. But I’ve got time. Someday, the chance will come, and you won’t be able to stop me. But I won’t do it if you just… give me that freedom. I’m not asking for anything crazy, just some basic respect. And in return, I’ll respect you.”

  
 “And you won’t kill yourself,” Bucky added, sounding like the words made him feel sick. Steve nodded. “Fuck. Fuck.”

  
 Steve watched Bucky for a few moments. There were a lot of different ways this interaction could go. A lot of different ways it could go wrong. But right now, it seemed like it was a battle of wits, and Steve wasn’t backing down. This was all he had. He couldn’t take any more humiliation. If Bucky kept it up, Steve might get to that point on his own. Quill had.

  
 Finally, Bucky stopped pacing, stopping directly below Steve. Their faces were only a few feet away, but Steve had faith that Bucky couldn’t reach him. “Let’s clarify,” Bucky said, voice tight. Steve was walking a fine line, and he knew it. “You want me to stop calling you those specific names. And you want clothing and couch privileges.”

  
 Steve nodded. “Not… not just that though. Look, I know… that your public image is important to you.” Bucky stiffened at this. “You can’t let people think that you don’t know what you’re doing. You’re scared.” He added the last part on a whim, but based on Bucky’s reaction, it was true. “You’re scared of what they’ll think. I get that. So… in public, I’ll be good. The perfect slave. But in private, I need you to let me be a person. Otherwise, I swear I’m going to go crazy.”

  
 When Bucky responded, his voice was finally back to level. He hardly needed any time to process it; Steve must’ve finally gotten through. “Fine,” He said sharply, “But that means you have to be really fucking perfect in public. And it doesn’t give you permission to be disobedient at home. We can try it, but I swear to God, if you hurt yourself— purposefully, or by getting in another fight— the deal’s off. Got it?”

  
 “Got it,” Steve said quickly. He’d had his fair share of bruises anyways.

  
 Bucky gave him a look that made it clear what he wanted, and Steve carefully slithered off the roof, knowing that it was time. He landed on his feet and Bucky’s hands rested on his waist, stabilizing him. Steve flinched when Fenris growled, but Bucky gave the dog a command in Russian and he stopped.

  
 “Hell dog,” Steve muttered under his breath. He could feel his heart speeding up, but he wasn’t sure if it was dog or owner he was more afraid of.

  
 “Hey,” Bucky chastised, poking him uncomfortably in the ribs. “He’s just a puppy.”

  
 Before Steve could think up a reply, Bucky was turning him, making it so he had to face him. Steve swallowed when they were finally eye to eye. Technically, he was only eye to chest— he had to look up to meet Bucky’s eyes.

  
 Bucky squeezed his hips. “That doesn’t mean you get to be lazy. And it doesn’t mean you can forget your place.”

  
 Steve swallowed and tried to look away. Bucky grabbed him under the chin, forcing him to look up again. He was waiting for an answer.

  
 Steve gave him what he wanted. “Yes, Master.”

 

—————————

 

  
 Steve noticed a few things, over the next few days. Bucky was struggling with the new dynamic, but he was trying. He still gave Steve weird looks when he came into the living room to find Steve laid out on the couch, or standing in the kitchen in mismatched sweats. Then he’d just keep walking, maybe slowing to run a hand harshly through Steve's hair, or give him a peck on the cheek, but Steve decided he could give Bucky that. Though Bucky didn’t say it out loud, it was clear that withholding physical affection was a dealbreaker for him, so Steve did his best not to. When they watched TV, Steve initiated contact. When Bucky came back from working outside or going into town, Steve tried to get close enough to give him a little touch. And at night, Steve always followed him obediently into his bedroom, letting Bucky wrap around him like a dozing boa constrictor saving a snack for later.

  
 Steve felt like a snack, sometimes. Bucky used his lips more, nipping and kissing and biting at him, making him squirm. Bucky liked making him squirm. It wasn't really all that bad, though. Steve liked the attention, even if he didn’t have a say in it.

  
\----------------

  
 It was a few days after their discussion that Steve noticed another thing that was different: the knife drawer in the kitchen was locked. The ammunition boxes normally stored by the door were gone. During the day, Bucky started locking his bedroom too, keeping Steve from getting in unsupervised. When he tried going through the drawers of bondage equipment, Steve found that the ones containing harnessed and ropes were also both locked.

  
 Steve had a theory, but he wanted some way to test it. It was ridiculous; surely Bucky didn’t actually think that?

  
 About a week later, the opportunity presented itself. Bucky was out tending to the crops, and, as usual, his gun was hanging by the door. The ammunition boxes were still nowhere in sight.

  
 Steve crept over to it, like the creaking floorboards could give him away. He picked up the weapon. It was a lot heavier than he’d expected; Bucky seriously wore this whenever he was in public? It couldn’t be comfortable. Steve knew that Bucky was a citizen soldier, so he was allowed it, but there had to be other soldiers and Steve hadn’t seen any carrying weapons so blatantly. Well… he had seen a few swords, but he was pretty sure that was more for aesthetic.

  
 He twisted the gun around in his grip, fumbling with it. It was a different type that he used to use when shooting with Natasha, but it couldn’t be all that different.

  
 He managed to find the release button, and the magazine, the piece that would store ammunition, slid out. It was, as he’d expected, empty. It was so stupid; he knew that Bucky had to have it loaded when they went out, so why wouldn’t he keep it that way? Steve was sure that before, he had.

  
 It confirmed all of Steve’s beliefs. Bucky’d been baby proofing the place for him. He’d taken the suicide threat seriously.

  
 Steve didn’t have more time to think about that because all of a sudden, something was slamming into his stomach, knocking out his breath brutally. The weapon was twisted from his grip and thrown across the floor, and then Steve was being grabbed, shoved against the door with enough force to agitate his still healing wounds. He groaned, wriggling against the hold, but he couldn’t get any leeway.

  
 “What the hell?” Bucky hissed, his breath hot against Steve’s neck. “You fucking idiot. You fucking idiot.”

  
 It was the same tone that he’d used at the party, after finding Steve bleeding on the floor. Now, Steve realized that it meant Bucky was afraid. No, that wasn’t the right word; it meant that Bucky was panicked.

  
 Steve didn’t respond, and Bucky shoved him harder, voice getting louder. “Steve-! You can’t— why would you— don’t fucking— Stevie, What the hell? What the hell?”

  
 His grip didn’t loosen on Steve’s arms, and Steve realized that he needed to respond. “I wasn’t trying to do anything,” he pleaded, trying to explain himself. “I swear.”

  
 “Like hell you weren’t. You were holding my gun. You… you loaded it. Where’d you get the bullet? Huh Stevie, where’d you get the fucking bullet?”

  
 “There’s no bullet,” Steve swore. “It’s empty. That’s why I was touching it. I saw that the ammo boxes were gone, and the knife drawer was locked, and I just wanted to check, I swear, I was just checking—”

  
 “That was a stupid fucking thing to do,” Bucky growled against his ear. “You could’ve hurt yourself.”

  
 Steve felt his ears go red. He scowled. “I’m not an idiot.”

  
 “You don’t need to be an idiot. Just unlucky.”

  
 “Buck, I didn’t even touch the trigger—”

  
 Bucky pushed him harder against the door, then took in a deep breath and released him. “Fine. I believe you. But you know that you’re not allowed to touch my gun. Go sit on the couch. I’m just… I’m going to be a minute.”

  
 Steve did as told, and Bucky carried the gun to his room. He didn’t leave it by the door anymore after that.

 

————————

 

 Steve stared at his hands, pressing his thumb into the small bruises forming on the backs. Bucky’d wanted to do a punishment that suited the crime, and he’d been thinking of binding Steve’s hands for the day, but Steve thought that’d be hell. Instead, he chose the other option Bucky’d offered, which was to have each hand hit with the leather of the riding crop. It left bruises, but they didn’t hurt unless Steve prodded at them. Bucky’d talked through it with him, and in the end, it was okay. Steve didn’t regret his decision to take the riding crop over the bindings.

  
 Now, he was laying on the couch. He was wearing sweats, and underneath that, he wore real boxer briefs. Bucky and him had gone shopping for casual, at-home clothes for him, and Bucky hadn’t even gave him too hard of a time about it. He had only pouted a little.

  
 “You have plenty of underwear at home,” Bucky complained.

  
 “They’re girl’s underwear,” Steve said, kneeling next to the display to get a better look.

  
 “They’re not,” Bucky grumbled, but he didn’t do anything when Steve took a pack of actual men’s underwear and slipped it in their bag. “They were in the men’s section.”

  
 Steve gave him a look. “Even the pink ones?”

  
 “Obviously. You have a penis, don’t you? If I got you ladies panties, they’d be no room for it. Those panties had plenty of room. Because I got them from the men’s section.”

  
 Steve didn’t roll his eyes, because they were in public and he was being respectful. No one was paying them any attention though, so he let himself say “Next you’re going to tell me that there are skirts in the men’s section too.”

  
 Bucky scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. Skirts are gender neutral.”

  
 “The fuck? No they’re not?”

  
 Bucky gave him a look and Steve relented, fixing his posture and voice to something more submissive. “I mean… that’s not what I thought.”

  
 Bucky waved his hand dismissively. “That’s because you’re from Midgard. They’re still pretty far behind when it comes to things like that.”

  
 “You don’t wear skirts,” Steve pointed out.

  
 Bucky hesitated. “...Yeah, but I’m also from Midgard. It never occurred to me to buy one. Sam owns a few. Why do you care? If you want me to get you a skirt, just ask.”

  
 “I do not want a skirt. It’d be humiliating.”

  
 “More humiliating than going without pants, like you did to the last party?”

  
 Steve hesitated. Bucky had him there.

  
 “Shut up,” he muttered. Bucky put his hand on the back of Steve’s neck, steering him like that.

  
 So, long story short, now Steve had boxers.

  
 The whole ensemble felt familiar, almost normal. The only thing off about his outfit was the collar, but he was so used to wearing it at this point that it was easy to ignore.

  
 He was still staring at his hands when the door unlocked and Bucky stormed in. Steve scrambled back, sitting up in a more defensible position. Bucky was wearing his normal social clothes, right down to the mask covering his face. He yanked off his shoes and threw something into Steve’s lap before disappearing into his bedroom.

  
 Steve picked up the item, not sure what to expect. It was a magazine, written entirely in Russian, which wasn’t really a surprise. Steve flipped through it, worried that he’d see his own picture somewhere, but he wasn’t in it. He didn’t understand what about it had made Bucky so angry.

  
 Bucky came back into the room, this time without the gun in tow. He must have taken it off and locked it away in his room. He ripped off his goggles and unclipped the mask. Underneath, he wasn’t scowling but was actually grinning. Steve stared at him, in even more horror than before.

  
 “Look at it!” Bucky announced, gesturing to the magazine wildly.

  
 Steve blinked. “I… did. It’s in Russian.”

  
 Bucky sighed, like it was Steve’s own fault that he couldn’t speak the language, and plopped down on the couch next to him, so close their thighs rubbed against each other. He slung his arm on the back of the couch, crowding around Steve. “Look,” He said again. “It’s talking about big trends this season. Right here: costume parties. Do you know what that means?”

  
 Steve offered him a semi-confused smile. He tried to scoot over, but there wasn’t exactly room. “More fashion?”

  
 Bucky grinned even wider. He didn’t really open his lips to smile, but it was still much more expressive than he normally was. “Yeah, it’s… its exciting. Themed parties, where fashion is a big deal.”

  
 “An even bigger deal,” Steve corrected. “It’s already a pretty big thing.” Steve paused for a moment, thinking. “Would you dress up?”

  
 Bucky shook his head. “Can’t. The mask.”

  
 “Yeah, but you don’t have to wear the mask. Do you?”

  
 Bucky stiffened a little. If Steve weren’t sitting right next to him— and extremely in tune with his every move— he probably wouldn’t have noticed. But he did notice.

  
 “Yes. I have to wear it,” Bucky said quieter. “But the costumes will be fun. We can go shopping later.”

  
 “I guess.”

  
 Bucky didn’t seem too pleased by that answer, but he also didn’t seem angry. He reached over, and before Steve could realize what he was doing, Bucky’d caught his wrists and pulled them over, his metal hand clamping around them. Steve grimaced, but held still, letting Bucky inspect them.

  
 “They’re healing up fine,” Bucky commented. “How do they feel?”

  
 “Fine.” Bucky pressed especially hard, and Steve winced. He tried to pull away, but the metal hand was set and locked. Bucky didn’t even seem to realize he was doing it.

  
 “Why do you have a metal arm anyways?” Steve asked, still tugging slightly. “It’s a prosthetic, right? How’d you lose the first one?”

  
 “Lots of loaded questions today,” Bucky said idly, giving a subtle warning. “You shouldn’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  
 “You’re literally the only person I see on a daily basis,” Steve chided. “And I’m the only person you see on a daily basis. Your business is my business.”

  
 Bucky pushed especially hard into one of the bruises, then released. “Fine,” he bit out, “I fell off a train. There was no one to catch me. My organization retrieved me, and fitted me with this.” He flexed his hand, sticking out each finger individually. The hand seemed to have more dexterity than even a normal human one.

  
 “It's impressive,” Steve said without thinking. “Are all the prosthetics here this advanced?”

  
 “Oh, no,” Bucky said. He finally pulled his hand away, realizing something. “This wasn't made here; this is from earth.”

  
 Steve squinted. “No it's not. That's gotta be at least… fifty years ahead of our current prosthetics, and it's not exactly new.”

  
 Bucky pinched him for the comment, but not hard. “The technology isn’t available to the public.”

  
 “Well, it should've been,” Steve grumbled. “It could help a lot of people out. Whatever organization it was that gave it to you are selfish.”

  
 “Were selfish,” Bucky corrected. “And they weren't just selfish, they were evil. There's a reason I left Earth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we had the roof discussion, the gun scene, underwear talk, and the scene on the couch about Bucky's mask/arm/obsession with fashion. 
> 
> One thing that I would urge you all to remember is the character's motivations. Steve's main goal is survival. He wants to escape, but that's not currently accessible, so he at least wants to feel semi-okay while he's waiting for an opportunity. Buckys main motivator is increasing his quality of life, which is why he takes meds, and sees a therapist, and got help on his farm. Now he also has another person to take care of, who in turns, offers him company. Just something to keep in mind :)
> 
> The next chapter will be mostly interactions with the other slaves. I'm excited! As per usual, please let me know any thoughts/questions you have!
> 
> (Also, fun fact, I decided more about the future of this fic and I might just have to make it super angsty. I promise itll be good though!)


	21. The Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for vomitting

 Part of Bucky’s conditions for their new arrangement was that when in public, Steve had to be the perfect submissive. It wasn’t exactly appealing, but after a few days of resting and settling back into his body, Steve felt much better about it. 

 The party they were going to had the theme of black and white, which was hilarious. Steve waited to see if Bucky would do something crazy and make his outfit all white, but when he laid out the various pieces of cloth and leather, it was clear that wasn’t the plan. 

 “What?” Steve teased. “Don’t want to make me into an innocent little submissive?”

 “Nope,” Bucky said, popping the p even though his voice remained monotone otherwise. “I like you with sharper edges. Strip and lay down.”

 Steve wasn’t really a fan of this next part, but they’d gone through it before. He followed his instructions, laying and propping himself up on his elbows, watching with surprise as Bucky started arranging the cocksleeve without cuffing him. “No restraints?”

 “You don’t struggle anyways,” Bucky dismissed. 

 Steve followed Bucky’s instructions, allowing himself to be maneuvered and dressed to Bucky’s liking. The outfit ended up being black panties, then a mesh suit that covered from his ankles to his neck. The mesh had holes about an inch wide. Over that, he was given a long sleeve bodysuit, the type that attached between the legs but didn’t go lower to cover his thighs. It covered his arms and stomach, but his legs and most of his back was still exposed, only slightly hidden by the mesh. Bucky pulled on the cloth sacks over his feet, wrapping them in ribbons. There were his normal shoes; the ones that protected his feet, but wouldn’t allow for much running. They felt more like mittens for feet than actual shoes. 

 After that, Bucky went to the drawers to retrieve something, and Steve took the time to adjust himself, trying to get comfortable. He stopped when Bucky turned around, holding a vicious looking black collar. It was thick, with multiple straps and buckles and a large o-ring. “Electrified,” Bucky promised, kneeling next to him to attach it. There were a few clicking sounds, and it tightened minutely. “Different locking mechanism. Try to get it off.”

 Steve did, fumbling with the back of it, but he wasn’t sure how it worked or how to undo it. Bucky grunted, pleased, and sat back. “I need you to be really good,” he said, watching Steve intently. “The last time we were out, you got in a fight. We have to show people that I’m in control.”

 Steve considered arguing, but it was pointless. He had something else to ask, though: “Why?”

 “There are rules that apply to owning slaves,” Bucky explained patiently, like he’d practiced this talk. “The Master must stay in complete control. Slaves aren’t allowed to be able to become independent. They have to have multiple markings designating them— here,” he said, brushing his cold metal hand across the Russian tattoo on Steve’s shoulder, “and here.” For that one, he wriggled his finger into Steve’s collar. The collar was a tight enough fit that he could barely get one finger in. Steve caught his breath; his neck was still moderately bruised.

 Bucky released him, and Steve forced himself to go back to baseline. “There’s a lot of gossip that goes around,” Bucky explained, fidgeting with Steve's clothes. “Especially with people like us.” 

 “Farmers?” Steve asked with a raised eyebrow.

 Bucky bit his lip, staring at the collar again. “People in high society. I'm there by association; Sam's my best friend, and in case you haven’t noticed, he's kind of a big deal.”

 “Are you Sam’s best friend?”

 Bucky flashed him a smile. “I certainly try.”

 Bucky then went and got ready while Steve waited by the door. When he came back, Steve realized he wasn’t holding either a gag or a leash. Steve frowned. “No restraints?”

 “Later,” Bucky promised. “But I want to show them how good you are without having to be forced. There’s… well, people here like to think that they’re not just forcing slaves, but breaking them. Look at Sam. People love his videos with his perfectly trained slaves.”

 That left a bit of a sick feeling in Steve’s stomach, but he forgot about it quickly when he realized Bucky was putting on his mask, but not the goggles. He didn’t even have on the eye makeup. “No goggles?” Steve asked. 

 Bucky shook his head. “Not today. It just means you have to be all that much better; if I freak out, people will be able to tell.”

Steve had been living with Bucky for nearly three quarters of a year, if the seasons were anything to go by, and not once had he ever seen Bucky “freak out”. He didn’t say that, though. Bucky had been complacent with him the last few days, letting him chose his own clothes and express his own autonomy, but now Steve had to fulfill his end of the deal and be  _ perfect.  _ He had to show Bucky that he’d made the right decision.

 The took the public trucks to the party. Bucky had an arm wrapped possessively around Steve, though he looked out into the distance, lost in thought. It was strange seeing Bucky’s eyes outside of their little corner of the world; his mask hid his mouth and any expressions that could be seen there, but his eyes were still expressive. They were big eyes, always moving, taking in everything. Steve realized that they looked like that behind the goggles too; Bucky had been looking at him all this time. It seemed strange, but when Bucky wore his mask he turned himself into something subhuman. Steve remembered what he’d thought of Bucky as when they first met; not a person, but a soldier. 

 Once they got to the party, Steve saw a minor flash of panic when Bucky saw the size of the crowd, but he gave Steve a little push anyways. “Go. See your friends. There’s going to be a show tonight, so you won’t be able to talk long.”

 Steve hesitated, wanting to ask Bucky if he was alright, but he knew better. Besides, by that point Bucky had smoothed his expression over to something dark and in control again, so Steve just nodded. “Yes Master.”

 It wasn’t hard to find the other slaves. He just had to leave the main area and walk along the partially lit halls until he heard noise. This time however, it wasn’t chatter, but the sound of someone vomiting. 

 Steve followed the sound to its source, then stopped. There was a tiny toilet closet off of the main hall, and the light wasn’t even on, but Steve could still see the figure hunched over, his pale, clammy hands gripping onto the toilet seat tightly. 

 Steve considered going straight to him, rubbing his back and offering whatever comfort he could, but he knew the boy’s past. He was a good actor, but Steve still would bet that an unknown person touching him would only scare him. 

 “Hey Peter,” Steve said instead, lingering at the doorway. “It’s Steve. You’re not feeling so hot, huh?”

 Then he entered the bathroom, falling to his knees besides the boy. Peter had stopped vomiting for the moment, and was currently in the stage of leaning over the toilet, head limp and chest rising and falling from the exertion. Steve had had his fair share of vomiting, and he knew the feeling of the aftermath; the way his entire body felt weak, like he could just flop to the ground and curl up in the fetal position right there; the way the act of throwing up was suffocating, his airways shut off as his body revolted and stomach heaved. It wasn’t pleasant. 

 Steve gave him a few moments, then offered him a piece of toilet paper. Peter wiped his mouth thankfully, then spit into the toilet with an air of finality. “Thanks.”

 “Are you sick?” Steve asked. He hoped so. It would’ve been cruel to drag Peter here as his personal lapdog if Sam knew he was ill, but it was still better than other options. Unfortunately, Peter shook his head. 

 “Stage fright,” he explained bitterly. “I can make porn all day long, but I can’t stand in front of a crowd for three goddamn minutes…”

 “What crowd?” Steve asked.

 Peter sighed and sat back on his heels, avoiding Steve’s gaze. “Sam says that he keeps getting comments on my videos asking to rent me out for a night. He  _ says  _ he’s not going to make it a regular thing, but he does like the idea. Tonight, he’s making me perform in front of the crowd out there,” he gestured in the vague direction of the party, “To help me get rid of my stage fright.”

 “Stage fright,” Steve repeated, a little in disbelief. He shouldn’t have been surprised, really. Yet, somehow, even after all his time spent on that planet, he still managed to get surprised at some of the things that happened that were treated like the norm. “What’s the performance? Sex?”

 Peter barked out a little laugh, but thankfully, this time he shook his head. “Nah. Just a dance. It’s… special, though. You’ll see.”

 “Peter, I was sent to—” Natasha said from behind them, then stopped when she saw Steve. She narrowed her eyes, but continued. “I was sent to get you. You’re wanted backstage.”

 “Oh joy,” Peter muttered, but pushed himself up. He was wearing some kind of suit, not exactly baggy but not fitted either. Steve couldn’t help but think how wrong it looked on him. Most slaves attire was designed to be revealing, usually showing off the thighs or shoulders, but if anything, Peter’s was covering. He shuffled past Natasha before Steve could ask, and then Steve was left alone with her. 

 Her hair was the same slightly-too-dark red, her makeup still more than she’d ever realistically wear. For the black and white theme, she wore a fitted white dress with a black harness over it, wrapping around her chest in the same way as before, intended to draw attention to it. The details were done in gold, including her collar. 

 “Where is your dick?” She asked, leaning against the doorframe. Her eyes flicked down to his (smooth) crotch, and back up to him, not hiding it. 

 Steve met her gaze, not backing down. He was bruised from her punches, and through the makeup, he could see subtle remnants on her too. “It’s basically duct taped to my ass,” he said, not wanting to get into the specifics. “Bucky doesn’t like the bulge.”

 “No, I’m sure ‘Bucky’ doesn’t,” Natasha agreed, lips pressed together in distaste. “And aren’t you just  _ so _ good for him? You don’t even need a shock collar.”

 “I do,” Steve protested. “I’m wearing one right now.”

 “Can you feel the metal against your neck?” She challenged. 

 “...no, but Bucky said—”

 “It’s only a shock collar if you can feel the metal,” she said, like it was obvious. “Otherwise, there’s no way for the shock to be delivered.”

 Steve didn’t know how to react to that. All this time, thinking he was wearing shock collars… being told by  _ Bucky  _ that he was wearing shock collars…

 “See? They don’t tell the truth. He’s been lying to you about this. What else might he be lying about?”

 Steve didn’t even try to stop himself before moving forwards and engulfing Natasha in a hug. She stiffened, stepping back like she was expecting a fight, but Steve didn’t let go. “Nat,” he muttered, squeezing her tighter. “You’re such a bitch. I missed you.”

 “All slaves back inside!” MJ announced from the hallway, “The show’s about to start!”

 Steve pulled back, watching Natasha carefully. She turned away, trying to hide her expression. Steve waited for her to say something, maybe  _ I missed you too,  _ but it looked like she wouldn’t be able to both speak and maintain her composure, so he let her off. “I’ll see what I can do about visiting you, or having you come over to our farm. We can talk more later.”

 She still didn’t respond, but she nodded, so Steve took it. He gave her arm a quick squeeze before leaving, heading back to the party. 

  
  


—————————-

  
  


 Bucky’s eyes were wide when he got there. 

 Steve had been looking for him for a minute when Bucky seemed to appear behind him, grabbing him and reeling him in in a matter that was both slow and assertive. “Sam’s about to do something stupid,” he muttered for the mask. “I need you to be very, very good.” 

 Steve responded with a quick  _ yes master,  _ but was still surprised when Bucky turned him around and pushed him against a table, his metal hand resting in the middle of his mostly exposed back and pushing him down. Steve squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the humiliation of the position— Bucky was directly behind him,  _ shit _ , he could fuck him right now if he wanted to— and focusing on keeping his breathing relaxed and reasonable. 

 Bucky pulled his hand away, gripping both of Steve’s hands behind his back. He used the angle to push Steve firmer against the table, then Steve felt rope against his wrists. Bucky was binding him. That was good; Steve knew what to expect. 

 The binding wasn’t even bad. It was made of soft rope, wrapped tightly around his wrists and halfway up his forearms. It would do its job, but still allowed some wiggle room, especially with his elbows, which Steve appreciated. 

 After that, Bucky pulled him up and lead him over to a table, pulling out a large chair. He sat down and helped Steve maneuver onto his lap, his legs straddling Bucky’s, so close their crotches were pretty much touching. Bucky rubbed his back, pressing him closer until Steve eventually gave up and resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder. 

 A moment later, someone was coming over, and Bucky pressed Steve even harder against him, leaving him with no choice but to lean his full weight against Bucky. His feet weren’t on the ground, and without the use of his hands he had no way to balance himself. 

 The person started talking, and Steve realized that it was Valkyrie. He prayed that Natasha wasn’t there, but that seemed unlikely. Gamora and Natasha were likely both at her side, each flanking her, like security guards or, more accurately, arm candy. 

 Valkyrie said something and with a grunt of complaint, Bucky pushed Steve back. He hooked his hands under Steve’s knees and maneuvered him around, turning him. He made it seem so effortless, like Steve was a doll instead of an actual human being. He didn’t even have to strain to pick him up. 

 He settled Steve back down, this time facing their audience, and Steve realized with a rush of heat that Natasha and Gamora were both in fact there. Natasha was giving the floor an angry, judging look, and Gamora was looking to Valkyrie, like she wanted to say something but knew she wasn’t allowed. Gamora was also wearing a white dress, but her’s wasn’t nearly as tight fitting around the stomach. 

 Bucky finished moving Steve, so Steve’s barely covered ass was pressed to his crotch, and nice, Bucky was hard. Steve  _ loved  _ that. Bucky spread Steve’s legs, making it so he was still straddling him, then wrapped the metal hand under Steve’s chin, a casual display of complete domination.

 Steve didn’t object to any of the actions, even when his arms were pinned between their bodies uncomfortably. He was a good slave, and more importantly, he had a duty. If he fucked this up, he fucked the next week up, maybe longer. He had to be good. 

 Sometimes, Steve  _ hated _ being good. 

 Valkyrie and Bucky exchanged a few more words in Russian before Valkyrie set her gaze on Steve, switching to English. “I understand you were taught your lesson about getting in fights.”

 Oh joy, Steve had to respond. “Yes… ma’am,” he said, blanking out on the appropriate terms of respect. “My Master made sure I understood what I did. The punishment was difficult, but that’s my own fault. It won’t happen again.”

 The words were a complete guess, of course, but Bucky had said that people here liked well-trained slaves, the type of slaves who had little to no will of their own left. Steve based his apology on that. 

 Valkyrie gave Bucky an impressed look. “I’m impressed. What punishment did you give him? I might have to use it. The punishments my girls get are never strict enough.”

 Natasha’s eyes went blank, and Steve got the idea that wasn’t actually the case. 

 “Isolation,” Bucky answered, his hand squeezing around Steve’s neck a little tighter. “I find it particularly effective.”

 “I’ll keep that in mind. It looks like the show’s about to start. I can’t wait to see what Sam came up with.”

 Bucky huffed, his breath warm against Steve’s ear. “He’s an idiot.”

 Valkyrie’s eyes glinted. “Maybe. But he’s been waiting for this for weeks.”

 “He could never just stay under the radar. Always had to go and fuck everything up.”

 Valkyrie left soon after that, shooting them a quick smile and a little wave, then wrapping an arm around each of her slaves and directing them away. 

 Once they were gone, Bucky let go of Steve’s neck, letting him settle back against him in a more comfortable position. Steve could still feel his hard-on— and fuck, he felt  _ huge—  _ but Bucky hadn’t moved in any way besides making minor adjustments, so Steve wasn’t worried about it. 

 “You doing okay?” Bucky asked quietly. 

 Steve was so lost in his thoughts that Bucky had to repeat himself twice before Steve realized he’d said something, and even then it was only when Bucky was shifting, getting ready to get up and lead Steve away. “I’m fine,” Steve said quickly, trying to keep his voice down. “Sorry. But I’m good.”

 Bucky still looked worried, but he settled back down again. “I thought you might be going nonverbal.”

 “No. Just… thinking.”

 Bucky let out another breath, and Steve shivered as it ghosted past his ear. “The show’s about to start. You might not want to see it, but I’m going to let you choose.”

 “I want to see it,” Steve responded immediately. “If… if that’s okay with—”

 “It’s fine. Let me know if you change your mind.”

 The show started quickly after that. There was a brief introduction from Sam, who talked about the performance like it was all Peter’s idea, and Sam was more than happy to let him fulfil this “dream of his”. Then, without further ado, the curtain rose and it started.

 Steve’s first impression was that everyone had been overreacting. Peter came out in the same ill-fitting suit as before, like a kid trying on his older brothers clothes. He also had a hat, which he tipped in time with the song. The song was some strange Russian one, and though Steve struggled with understanding the lyrics he couldn’t help but think it sounded folksy. 

 Peter spun around a prop that was set up to look like a light pole, and the backup dancers— one of which was unmistakably MJ— all pulled their umbrellas open at once, completely hiding him from view. 

The song changed dramatically, and Steve couldn’t say for sure, but this one sounded more like hip hop. He was about to ask Bucky about them when Peter reappeared, and the question died in Steve’s throat. 

 Peter was no longer wearing the suit. Instead, he was wearing a skin tight, black latex…  _ something,  _ tight and lined with white ruffles. His legs were partially covered in fishnet tights, much like Steve’s but even stupider looking. It was all worthy of shock, but the worst part came to Steve last: Peter wasn’t wearing a collar. The neckline of his outfit was low enough that there was no hiding it; he seriously,  _ seriously  _ wasn’t wearing a collar. Suddenly, Steve understood just why Bucky had been dreading this act. 

 The dancing continued, a lot more suggestive than before. Sam was sitting in a chair just off to the side, grinning like a loon as he watched. 

 The other background dancers quickly snuck off, leaving just Peter and MJ, who did a quick, perfectly harmonized routine of prowling, swaying their hips, and leering suggestively at the crowd. Peter dropped to his knees, doing a quick impression of fellatio while MJ arched her back and mimed moaning. MJ was wearing some sort of sexy-ringleader uniform, and despite the humiliation of the act, they both seemed to be having at least a little fun. MJ pulled Peter up to his feet, and they shimmied back and forth, chest to chest, before he grabbed onto her waist and helped her perform some sort of dance move that involved flipping her over in a cartwheel.

 This continued on for another minute, with them switching in between sexualized dancing and straight up innuendos. Even though they were both dancing, the attention seemed to be on Peter, with MJ just supporting him. 

 The crowd loved it. There was lots of hollering and jeering, and MJ and Peter seemed to revel in it, even if Steve caught a few minor falters in their act. Peter slipped up at one point and a flash of panic darted over his face before he hurried into the next move, performing it with more vigor than before, like he was trying to cover up for his previous mistake. They went back and forth in between performing as dancers and performing as sex objects, but they never stopped performing. 

 At one point in the dance, MJ swooped in for a kiss and Peter, perfectly choreography, pushed her back. MJ kept dancing on her own on the other side of the stage, but all of the attention was on Peter as he prowled towards Sam, still moving in a way that was supposed to be alluring. He straddled Sam’s waist, grinding against him as Sam held onto his waist painfully tightly, grinning with a sort of dark pleasure. There was a little bit more lap dancing after that, the type of thing that was meant to be performed in private, not on a stage, but he did it anyways. Finally, he got up and shoved Sam back by his shoulders, making the entire audience jeer loudly, the biggest reaction of the night. 

 The song ended with Peter falling to his knees, head back. The audience went wild, and Bucky let go of his hold on Steve to clap around him, polite. Most people were more garish, however, including Valkyrie who yelled something joking to Sam about “borrowing his twink” that made him grin, blush, and flip her off. Sam took center stage, thanking everyone again for giving his “sweet little boy” the chance to perform, and finally, he led his slaves off the stage. 

 They waited until the chatter and talk returned, and then Bucky asked Steve if he was ready to go. “Yeah,” Steve responded, feeling more tired than was reasonable from just sitting and being quiet. “Let’s go.”

 Bucky undid his arm bindings and they went to find Sam. He wasn’t in the middle of all the commotion, as Steve had expected, but in the back, talking quietly to Peter. When he saw them, his expression brightened. “Hey Buck!” 

 “It’s going to blow up in your face,” Bucky said with an edge of humor in his voice. Steve looked up at him, surprised. “Should I clear my schedule next month?”

 “I mean, if it takes that long. I have a feeling it’ll be next week at the latest.” 

 Bucky shook his head. “You’re an idiot.”

 “Hey, I’m a revolutionary! Just wait, it’s going to be epic. Have you decided what Steve’s going to wear yet?”

 Steve perked up, putting even more effort into figuring out what was going on. Bucky shook his head, for once not seeming excited about fashion. “No. Is there a dress code for this type of thing? I’ve never been to one.”

 “Yeah, I know you haven’t,” Sam said, and there was definitely an edge of salt underneath his casual tone. “I’ll text you the details later.” 

 He nodded. “Fine. I… won’t let you down. Again.”

 “Man, I know you won’t. Thanks for coming.”

 They hugged, a little longer than the average machismo man-hug on Earth, but it was pretty clear that things worked a little different here. When they left, Steve waited a full five seconds before asking “What’s happening next week?”

 Bucky sighed, sounding tired but not surprised. “Sam’s going to court. And I have to go and be his character witness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter:  
> —Steve got ready for the party (which included Bucky telling him about some more slave/master customs and dressing him, including the "You don’t struggle anyways" line)  
> —Steve saw Peter getting sick and talked with Natasha  
> —Peter did the Umbrella dance! (Found here: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=b0nNTklOKRA)  
> —Sam is going to court (and Bucky’s going to have to go with him)
> 
> I believe it was PeterParkour who gave the idea of Peter doing the lip synch battle dance? Let me know. But regardless, I hope it turned out good!
> 
> Also, if anyone has any suggestions for future outfits, pls let me know. I havent decided what I want to do for the court one, but it could definitely get really interesting with either being super modest or super exposing. Let me know what you think!


	22. The Trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter today!

 The court order came three days later. 

 “Sam’s being accused of ‘improper conduct in regards to the ownership and maintenance of his slave’,” Bucky said, reading from his phone. “His specific offenses include disregarding federal policy in regards to the use of collars, as well as creating and performing a ‘propagandist’ dance that encouraged slave independence, and general misconduct.”

 Steve, who was sitting on the couch in a shirt and his boxers, raised his eyebrows. “You don’t sound surprised.”

 Bucky made a noncommittal noise. “I’m not. People have been trying to sue him every since he started teaching his slaves Russian. He’s got to court at least three times for it before.”

 “But never gotten in trouble?”

 “No, he’s always managed to find a way out.”

 “Then what makes this time different?”

 Bucky looked genuinely uncomfortable. “They have more evidence. They’ll be trying harder. Which means, Sam has to try harder in response. He… he’s asked me to be his character witness all the other times, but I’ve rejected him. But now… I have to. I can’t stand by and let him get in trouble.”

 It made sense. It also hurt, just a little. Steve wished that things were more black and white; he didn’t like Sam, and he was angry at him for making Peter do what he did, but at the same time, if Sam went to prison then Peter and the other slaves would have to be relocated. Steve remembered what Peter had said to him that first day: he wanted out, but for the time being, working for Sam was ideal. Steve had been around Sam before, had been ordered around by him that time Bucky broke down, and knew that, despite Sam’s flaws, he wasn’t unreasonable. Peter’d be screwed if he had to leave Sam. 

 There was still something that didn’t line up. “Why didn’t you help him before?”

 Bucky started pacing. He was pretending not to be, but he definitely was. “To help him, I have to give a character testimony. That means standing in front of a room full of people and talking. And…” he swallowed roughly. “...and I would have to take the mask off.”

_ Oof.  _ Bucky had made his thoughts on the mask pretty clear. It was the coping mechanism to end all coping mechanisms, a safety net over his entire identity. A few square inches of plastic that made it possible to carry his isolation around with him like a man-purse. “But you’re going to take it off?”

 “I will.” 

 Steve thought it over. “They'll want you as a character witness to prove that Sam's a good master. Maybe I could serve as a character witness to prove that Peter's a good slave?” 

 Bucky gave him a strange look. “No. Slaves aren’t allowed to participate in court.” 

 “What if they're the victim?”

 “They can’t be the victim. If, say, Sam were to rape you, I'd be the victim, not you. I'd go to court and handle the proceedings.”

 Steve scowled down at his legs, but kept his trap shut.

—————————

  
  


 Steve could physically see Bucky’s nerves increase as the trial came closer. They’d gone out and bought the new clothes— because of course they needed something  _ new,  _ what was the point of reusing anything in Steve’s overstuffed closet, no, they had to get something  _ else  _ that was black and leather— and Bucky’d already made him try them on three times. He wanted everything to be perfect. It made Steve realize something about Bucky; he was either a master strategist, or a paranoid control freak. Maybe both. But when they went into town, he acted like the people on the jury were already watching him. He acted like he was already on trial— and he wasn’t even the one being prosecuted. 

 The night before the case, Bucky made him shower (“don’t forget to use soap, lots of soap” “Bucky, I’m not going to forget  _ fucking soap _ ”), and then went over the entire plan one more time. When at court, Steve was going to sit where Bucky told him to sit. He was going to be silent and obedient. If he wanted to, he could even act a little scared. The proceedings would start, and near the middle/end, Bucky would be called up to give his testimony. He’d have to take off his mask. He would take off his mask. (“I will,” Bucky’d promised, “I swear, I fucking will”). Then, there may be a few more witnesses and maybe some questions, and then the case would be decided and they’d adjourn. They’d leave. Sam would talk about the party he’s throwing for their victory (because Sam was going to win, that Bucky was absolutely sure of), and Bucky would politely brush him off. They’d go home. Bucky would go into the yard and stick his head in the ground like an ostrich, and stay there until he passed out. 

 That last part was Steve’s own original addition, but he thought it was plenty valid. If Bucky was freaking out this much, and they weren’t even at the trial yet, then Steve could only guess how bad he’d be when it was over. 

 That night, Steve slept in the fishbowl. Bucky’d tied his ankles together so he couldn’t run, which was way fucking overkill, because Steve was already  _ locked  _ in a giant glass  _ cage,  _ but whatever. Steve woke just a little sore in the morning, blinking his eyes to see Bucky looming over him. He made a face. 

 “It is ass-o-clock in the morning,” Steve complained, voice scratchy and soft at the same time. 

 Bucky remained unaffected. “Get up. Go to the bathroom. Then you need to get dressed.”

 Like hell, Steve ‘needed to get dressed’. The trial started late, and the sun hadn’t even risen yet. But again, Steve didn’t complain, just let Bucky undo his ankles cuffs and escort him to the bathroom. 

 When he was done, Steve sat on the bed, hair fluffy and eyes dull. Bucky started manhandling clothes on, and Steve wondered idly if he’d be able to fall asleep like that. 

 Today’s outfit of choice were tight black jeans and a weirdly cut leather shirt. It was tight to his skin, and had a halter neckline. There were little cut out details, and the entire back was made of mesh, showing off his tattoos. Under the shirt, Bucky had tied an intricate ribbon configuration that ran along his spine and across his ribs, making his shoulder blades more pronounced. 

 Bucky added a half dozen thin leather cuffs to his arms, all designed so they could be easily clipped together in an armbinder, if he so choosed, and then he held up the collar. Steve had seen this one before; thick, padded, obtrusive. When Bucky put it on him, he could feel cool metal against his skin. So it was electrified too. Great.

 Bucky went and got ready then too. He wore a set of cleaner, shinier body armor than normal. His metal arm gleamed, entirely exposed. Steve wanted to trace his finger along the star on its shoulder, the only spot of color in his otherwise monochrome ensemble. 

 Bucky put his mask and goggles on as normal, but there was another different thing about his outfit today; his hair was pulled back in a bun, a few loose chunks falling out to frame his face. It was a good look. Rediculously, it managed to work with the mask, not making him look any less intimidating. 

 They drove out in the truck. Steve tried to fall asleep, but whenever he did Bucky reached over without looking and slapped his inner thigh. “Stay awake. You can sleep later.”

 Steve would whine, but obey, doing his best to stay awake. A few minutes later, another slap would jolt him back up. 

 When they arrived, Bucky parked the car and immediately turned to Steve. He caught his jaw in his hand, holding it roughly and forcing Steve to look at him. “You’re going to be so good today, aren’t you?” He asked through the mask. 

 Steve wanted to scowl, but he made himself contain it. He was here for Peter, he reminded himself. He could be good for Peter. 

 “Yes Master,” he answered. Bucky grimaced. 

 “I was going to gag you.” He pulled a bit gag out from one of his extensive compartments, eying it wearily. “I don’t know which will be more effective.”

 “You should keep the gag off. I’ll be good, master,” Steve said, trying his best to sound like a sweet and obedient slave.

  Bucky looked at him for a few more moments before raising the gag with the command “Open.” Steve whined, genuinely displeased, but let Bucky pull his jaw open and start adjusted the gag. He clasped it in the back then pulled it taut. The large bit forced him to keep his mouth open, biting down on it with his teeth. Bucky brushed his hand along Steve’s jaw, softly, like he was appreciating an exquisite painting. Steve tried to hold still, maintaining eye contact the whole time. For a moment, Bucky looked like he might be about to take the gag off after all, run his thumb along Steve’s bottom lip, hold Steve’s chin like that as he leaned in, bringing their lips together—

 Bucky did none of that. He pulled back, and clipped a leash onto Steve’s collar to complete the look. Then, they were outside, walking, and Steve was doing his best to keep up behind him. 

 He was more than a little uncomfortable with all the eyes on them as they walked in. Apparently, Sam had gone through this mess plenty of times before, but Steve and Bucky were the new editions, the exciting wild cards. 

 It was a great day not to fuck everything up. 

 They signed in at a few places. Whenever they needed to confirm Steve’s identity, Bucky dug his hand in Steve’s hair and pushed his head down, showing the officers the claiming tattoo. They scribbled something down, then after making Bucky surrender his gun, waved them through. 

 They didn’t go straight to a courtroom like Steve expected, but to a private waiting room. Inside, Sam and another man were looking at a strategy board, and Peter was pacing. 

 Bucky closed the door before turning to unclip Steve’s leash and unbuckle his gag. His thumb brushed along Steve’s cheekbone idly, then he turned away, pushing Steve towards Peter. Apparently, in private they could drop the complete submission act. 

 “Steve! I’m so glad you’re here!” Peter said, projecting his innocent voice so Sam could hear. He grabbed Steve and pulled him to sit down, and then muttered lowly “We’ve gone through this like five fucking times and I want to die.”

 Steve made a face. “Cute. So you’re not worried?”

 “Oh, I’m really worried,” Peter admitted, glancing over to the people talking on the other side of the room. “I’m always really worried. If they get some new evidence, or the jury leans a different way, then I’m screwed. I can't lose Sam; I can’t go back in the system. I have spent too much time literally begging to suck dick to start all over again.”

 The man who’d been talking to Sam wandered over, giving them both appraising looks. Steve immediately went on the defensive. He didn’t like the man’s casual walk, the way he looked them up and down without shame. 

 He was shorter than even Bucky, but that meant he was still notably taller than both Steve and Peter. His hair was brown, pushed back a little messily, and he sported a goatee. Steve tried to tone down his scowl a little as he came closer, but at the same time… well, he didn’t try too hard. 

 The main went to Peter first, who was looking up at him like he was the messiah. He’d shifted into a more submissive stance, kneeling with his hands on his knees, so he’d only have to sit up to be ready to suck some dick. The man chuckled, and ruffled his hair. “Hey Peter, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? Sam’s managed to stay out of trouble for almost a year. Here I was, thinking I might have lost my favorite client.”

 “Oh, shut up Tony,” Sam said, staying by the whiteboard. Meanwhile, Bucky drifted closer. 

 Tony shook his head, feigning disapproval. “I’ve had absolutely nothing to do.”

 Peter creened up towards him, so happy it was almost genuine. “Sir, we both know  _ that’s  _ not true.”

 Tony’s smile widened. “And don’t you forget it. Who’s your friend?”

 Tony’s attention went to Steve, who was much less willing to play the role of  enthusiastic whore than Peter. “I’m Steve,” Steve said, trying not to scowl too aggressively. He did not add any information about his master; Bucky had literally lead him in on a leash, it would have been redundant. It also was probably the polite thing to do, but Steve couldn’t be bothered with that. 

 Tony’s smile fell, and was immediately replaced by a look of pure concentration. His hand wandered over to Steve’s face, tugging at his collar and then stroking his jaw, rubbing his cheek. His fingers prodded against Steve’s mouth, then pushed in. Steve immediately bit down, because  _ fuck him.  _

__ The sound Tony made wasn’t pained, just displeased. He turned to Bucky with his fingers still clasped in between Steve’s teeth. “Barnes, you said he was trained.”

 “He is,” Bucky said, and oh yes, Steve was in trouble. 

 “He’d better be. Because if he’s not, it could ruin our whole angle—”

 “He is,” Bucky repeated, snapping. Steve let go of Tony’s fingers, shrinking back under Bucky’s gaze. “Steve. Be obedient.”

 He moved closer, metal fingers gracing across Steve’s cheek before pushed into his mouth. Steve let them, not biting down, but based on the uncomfortable shoving that wasn’t enough. He remembered something Shuri had said to him about pleasure slaves sucking, not biting, and begrudgingly wrapped his lips around Bucky’s fingers, sucking lightly. Bucky hummed in approval, his two metal fingers continuing to explore Steve’s mouth until they eventually reached the back, making him gag and pull back. Bucky’s other hand dug into his hair, keeping him from moving away as he pushed on his gag reflex again. After a few moments, Steve managed to shift and relax enough that it wasn’t an issue. Bucky pulled back and Steve went back to sucking contently, eyes closed. He played pretend as best as he could. Losing this trail would make Peter’s life miserable, and somehow winning and losing was related to how convincingly Steve could suck Bucky’s fingers. Fine. The world was fucked anyways; Steve could suck some fucking fingers and pretend to like it. He opened his eyes for a moment, looking up through his lashes to check Bucky’s reaction, but Bucky gave him a quick gesture to close his eyes again, so he did. Steve exhaled through his nose. 

 He felt Bucky maneuvering above him, then the metal fingers were being replaced by flesh ones. These ones were… well, they didn’t feel like Bucky’s would, so they must have been Tony’s. Steve tried not to let his annoyance show on his face as he kept up the act, sucking and licking and not biting. 

 After a few moments, Tony pushed his fingers back to Steve’s gag relax and held them there as he talked. “Okay, fine, he can fake it alright.”

 “He’s not a pleasure slave,” Bucky explained in a quiet growl. “He’s not used to being touched like that. But he understands that this is important. He’ll play whatever part he needs to.”

 He was giving Steve a lot of credit. He was also putting a lot of weight in Steve’s actions. It was just more pressure to do well. 

 Tony withdrew his fingers and wiped them in Steve’s hair carelessly, cementing the fact that Steve hated him beyond all reason. “Fine. Just make sure he  _ keeps  _ playing the part. He won’t be sitting at your feet for you to correct.” 

 That was news to Steve. 

 “He will,” Bucky promised. He pushed his hand into Steve’s hair, petting him soothingly, and Steve automatically closed his eyes, leaning into the movement. Tony exhaled. 

 “Alright. Anyways, back to business. Sam, just out of curiosity, could we do what we did last time? I’ve missed little Peter.”

 “ _ No Tony _ . Last time you got too distracted. And didn’t you hear? I’m renting him out. You could have him for a  _ whole night,  _ instead of using our planning time to fuck him. Now, are we getting back to work or what?”

 Tony whined. “Fine. Peter, rain check.”

 “I’ll hold you to it, sir,” Peter flirted. 

  
  


——————————

  
  


 The trial was worse than Steve expected. He was sat in a seat among a few other slaves, with Bucky in the other side of the room. Steve wasn’t leashed, but he was given a stern look, and that was enough. Besides, he wasn’t in any way hidden; getting up for any reason at all would be suicidal. 

 They went through the case in typical court fashion. Sam was being prosecuted, basically, for being a bad master who gave his slaves too much freedom. The evidence that was brought against him included clips from his video channel, a few textbooks for teaching Russian, and a video of Peter’s dance number, specifically the parts where he revealed his lack of collar and where he pushed Sam away. In response, Tony shared videos of various punishments Sam had given his slaves, including the scenes at the end, where they basically begged for forgiveness. Steve didn’t watch, but the sounds were pretty bad. He tried not to show any expression on his face; he needed to pretend this was nothing new to him. After that, Tony made his case of Sam not only being an acceptable owner, but an  _ exceptional  _ owner. 

 It was a lot to take in. At the same time, Steve was trying to process Peter squirming next to him, Bucky’s occasional twitches across the room, and the discomfort of his own get up. 

The defense and prosecution went back and forth a few times, until the prosecutor eventually said “The fact remains that we can not allow this behavior to continue! Even if he  _ was  _ an acceptable owner, he’s still tainting the people around him. He takes his slaves collar off for a show, so what? I’ll tell you what; then all his friends start taking their slave’s collars off too. It’s a slippery slope, and it’s not one our society can take.”

 He sat back, looking like he’d just made his big argument, but Tony seemed undeterred. “Hmm,” He said, taking his time and apparently relishing in the entire room’s attention being solely on him. “It’s too bad we don’t have one of his closest friends here, especially one who also has a slave who could be corrupted. Oh wait. Defense calls to the stand a character witness, James Barnes.”

 Steve’s first thought was  _ James?  _ His second thought was  _ oh fuck. _

 He sat up a little, imagining he was Peter.  _ I’m just a good little submissive, without a single thought of my own. La-dee-da, don’t mind me, do-do-do. _

__ Bucky slowly marched over to the stand. He went behind the podium, and was about to start talking when the excecutive officer coughed, gesturing toward the mask. Bucky touched it in surprise, like he’d forgotten it was there, then slowly moved to take it off. Steve could hear the rest of the room take in a breath; he had a feeling about half of them were there just to see Bucky’s face. He was a public figure of sorts, as Sam’s right hand man, but he was so secretive everyone must be desperate to get any information on him. Steve remembered some of the other slaves questions, asking if he was horribly disfigured under the mask. 

 He removed the googles first, eyes darting around, and then the mask. Steve heard a few intrigued hums. Nope, Bucky definitely wasn’t disfigured. Nope. 

 “James Barnes,” Bucky introduced. There was no bible to swear on, no oath to take. He just spoke, leaned close to the microphone for it to pick up his quiet voice. “I have lived on Heidrun for nearing twenty years. When I came here, I didn’t know anyone or really understand how anything worked. I was… I was in a dark place. But Sam found me and took me under his wing. He. He, uh, accepted me. Helped me out. Introduced me to, uh, my other friends, Valkyrie and, erm, Doctor Strange. And helped… he just helped me, okay?” Bucky was clearly stressed, doing everything he could to keep his panic under control. “He’s had Peter for a little while. I watched when he first started training him. Peter was a problem slave, just out of the correction center for attacking a master. Sam made sure that never happened again. He… he’s insistent and reasonable and, just, really good at what he does. And, despite what everyone says, he doesn’t go easy on them. You all saw the videos. His slaves wear their collars all the time, with that one exception. They do what he says. They… they’re  _ excited  _ to follow his commands. He really is good at all this.”

 The prosecutor cleared his throat. “That’s all very nice, but that doesn’t answer our question.” 

 Bucky nodded, swallowed. Apologetic. Scared. Steve could see that, because he knew Bucky, but to everyone else, he probably looked collected. Steve looked over, and saw that Sam looked worried; so, he saw it too. 

 “I got a slave nine months ago,” Bucky continued, gesturing vaguely to Steve. “I didn’t want one, but Sam thought… he thought it’d be good. He convinced me. He was right. I didn’t really know what I was doing, so I asked him for help wherever I could. I watched his videos. I modeled Stevie’s training off of the way Sam trains, and it… it worked really well. He’s, um, obedient. I. I punish him if he’s bad, but he actually usually isn’t anymore. He just… doesn’t feel the need to rebel.” Bucky shot Steve a quick, apologetic look. “He’s learned his place.”

 Steve didn’t let the betrayal of the statement show on his face.  _ Right.  _ His place. That place, of course, being at Bucky’s feet. 

 “I’m really thankful for Sam’s effect on my life. He’s a really good guy, and he knows what he’s doing. I’m— it’s— we’re not meant to be alone in life. Sam offered me his friendship, and later, when he saw that wasn’t enough, he convinced me to get a slave. And that. Yeah. It just… Yeah.” He cleared his throat awkwardly.

 The room was silent for a few moments. Then, breaking the silence, the prosecutor spoke up. “How often do you withhold punishment from your slave?”

 Bucky gritted his teeth. These questions would be specifically aimed to mess him up. “Never.”

 “How often does you slave complain, fight, ignore, or otherwise disrespect you?”

 “As often as he gets punished, which, as I already mentioned, is very little. He’s a very good slave.”

 Well, that wasn’t true, neither part. Steve wasn’t a good slave, and he disrespected Bucky plenty, just not in public. 

 “How often do you have sex with your slave?”

 “Whenever I want,” Bucky answered easily. “Look, I—”

 The prosecutor raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

 Bucky shrunk back. “Sorry. Continue.”

 There was a slight hesitation, then another question. “Would you ever get another slave? It’s not secret that Mister Wilson likes to collect them.”

 “With all due respect to Sam, uh, probably not. Steve and I have a good system worked out.” He must’ve realized that that sounded a little too nice, so he quickly added “he fulfills my needs fine on his own. And, and, I’m not Sam. I can make decisions for myself. Like, for example, if, maybe, he were to have his slave perform a dance without a collar, I wouldn’t think oh, what a great idea, I’d… I’d… I wouldn’t take my slaves collar off. Because— because—” he hissed between his teeth. “Because he’s a slave. So he wears a collar. Because… because that’s how these things work.”

 He was really agitated now, and Steve was pretty sure he wasn’t the only one who saw it. The court stayed quiet, everyone’s eyes flicking between Bucky and the prosecutor, waiting to see who would make the next move. Bucky going off script like that was risky, but it didn’t seem like he’d actually done any harm. Finally, the prosecutor announced that they were done with the character witness, and Bucky scrambled to put his mask and goggles back on, buckling them up around his bun.

 There was a little more discussion then, and then the jury left to make a decision. The masters chattered amongst themselves nervously, excited to hear the results, with a few impassioned voices raising to be heard over the others before quieting down. Steve didn’t talk, not even to Peter who was right beside him. He just waited.

 The entire room held their breath when the jury came back out, and one woman stood, looking displeased. She must have voted for the loosing side. “The jury has come to a decision. In a 5 to 4 vote, Samuel Wilson has been found… not guilty, for crimes of inadequate care and maintenance of—”

 She didn’t have enough time to finish her sentence before the first of three shots rang out, starting the room into a panic. Before Steve knew what was happening, he was on the ground, Peter shoving him to hide behind the chairs. “What direction did those bullets come from? Steve, stay down, stay fucking—”

 Steve stood, rushing forwards, and Peter hissed at him and grabbed, just missing. Steve finally spotted the shooter and started stepping around another slave cowering on the ground when Peter finally grabbed onto his ankle and yanked him to the ground painfully. 

 “Are you mad? He’s got a gun!” 

 “He could hurt someone!” Steve defended, trying to kick Peter away. He almost managed, climbing up to see over a chair before Peter could pull him back away. “He could—” 

 He stopped as he watched Bucky lunge forwards, tackling the shooter. They went rolling, and within moments the shooter was on his stomach, hands tightly behind his back. Bucky was the picture of perfect, soldierly grace, but when he turned and looked at Steve through those goggles, it was clear he was also absolutely furious. He straddled the shooters back with his thighs, pinning his arms down painfully, and unloaded the remaining bullets with incredible efficiency. 

 Within minutes, some form of security was there apprehending the man, who went thrashing and growling, but without anyone else getting hurt. 

 As soon as he was gone, Bucky turned to Steve. Steve couldn’t see his expression, and he made no other movements, but his body posture was the physical equivalent of saying  _ come here right fucking now.  _ Steve swallowed, tilted his chin up, and went. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: the next chapter won't ~really~ be a punishment chapter. I've already written it, and I'm going to go ahead and say it's a little more interesting than that. We'll just have to see :o
> 
> In this chapter:  
> \- the entire court situation was explained by Bucky  
> \- Bucky was real frickin nervous  
> \- Sam's done this a million times before  
> \- tOnY  
> \- Bucky's testimony  
> \- Peter Is Becoming Done With Everyone's (Sam) Bullshit (Steve)  
> \- the whole shooter situation
> 
> Obviously some dramatic stuff happened this chapter, so I'm really excited to read your comments! Also, this chapter could have gone a lot of different ways. Originally, when Peter pulled Steve down after the gun went off Steve was like "where did you learn to do that?" And peter replied, awkwardly, by admitting "I used to be in the ROTC". That wasnt added bc like, pulling someone down in an active shooter scenario isnt exactly something you have to be trained for. Regardless, I'm noting that Peter in the rotc is canon.


	23. The Big Shift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In regards to the previous chapter—   
> It looks like some people were wanting to hear more/know a lot more about the shooter situation, so I just wanted to explain. There will be more specifics on what happened with that in the next one/two chapters, but that moment was meant more for the storyline, and for the worldbuilding. Remember, Bucky's a citizen soldier, which in this world is basically like being a police officer who doesn’t get called out or deal with legal things. He’s just there, armed, and ready to handle situations should they come up, hence the shooter. It also showed Bucky's training; even unarmed, he won easily. The whole shooter situation also showed how passionate some people are about slaves. Sam was just doing subtle things, letting them take off their collars for a show, letting them learn the language everyone spoke. But the guy was so passionate about slavery oppression that he was willing to kill because he didn’t get his way. Sound familiar? 
> 
> Anyways, I love this chapter, and you’ll see why pretty quickly ;) Enjoy.

 Bucky was silent during the drive home, metal and flesh hands gripping the wheel firmly. Mentally, Steve tried to prepare. He’d be punished, or that he was sure, but he wasn’t going to whine about it. He didn’t deserve a punishment, but he’d take it with his head held high. He wasn’t going to apologize for trying to do something right. 

 At home, Bucky shoved Steve inside and slammed the door behind him. He ripped off his boots and the mask, throwing everything in a heap by the door and storming away to unarm. Steve crossed his arms, not moving to hide. He could handle this. He would handle this. 

 The familiar rush of a fight pushed through him. He was so fucking ready. He wanted to be bruised. He wanted to hurt. He wanted to fight back too; to get his fists bloody, or in this case, maybe just say enough cruel things to hurt Bucky like he was surely about to hurt him. All Steve wanted was a beating, that’s all he needed. 

 Bucky came back into the living room, and Steve raised his chin in challenge. Bucky said nothing as he pinched his eyes, grabbed Steve’s collar, and dragged them in the direction of the bedrooms; good. He was going to get the riding crop from before to beat him with. Good, fucking good, fucking—

 Bucky shoved him in the fishbowl and closed the door behind him, setting it to lock. 

 Steve was so startled he didn’t process for a few moments. Then he was  _ pissed.  _

__ “You’re just going to leave me here? If you’re angry, look me in the eyes and fight me like a man, or are your balls already shoved so far up your own ass from letting Sam fondle them all day that you don’t know how to fight anymore?”

 Steve didn’t know where the insult came from, but he had no problem with it. Outside the glass, Bucky walked away stiffly. Steve raised his voice louder. 

 “Don’t leave me here, you fucking coward! Stop running from all your fucking problems! Everyone is so scared of you, but you’re just a big whiner! Oh, you don’t like that, do you? Well why don’t you come and say it to my face!”

 Abruptly, Bucky turned around, and Steve grinned, knowing it’d worked. “That’s fucking right, give me a piece of your mind. Not too big a piece though, I know you don’t have much to spare.”

 Bucky was really angry now. He punched in a few things on the glass of the door, and then, with a quick, prideful glance, the entire glass wall turned opaque. The door didn’t open. Steve could no longer see Bucky moving outside. 

 Suddenly, the anger in Steve was hyped up to eleven. Bucky hadn’t wanted to fight him at all. He didn’t even see him as a worthy opponent; just a dog, yapping loudly in its cage. And what did Bucky do? He put a blanket over the cage. Fucking typical. Fucking typical.

 This just enraged Steve further. “You asshole! You fucker! I hate you! Stop fucking ignoring me, we made a deal! Couch privileges motherfucker, you can’t just lock me in my room ‘cause you don’t want to face the music! Answer me! I swear to God, you’re the biggest dickhead I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting, you fucking—”

 Finally, the door swung open, revealing Bucky in all his pissed, soldier-ly glory. Steve understood why the slaves earlier had been so afraid of him; he wasn’t taller than any other the other masters, but his presence, dark and foreboding, was huge. Right now, he glared harshly at Steve, a wolf’s snarl. “You have two options,  _ slave.  _ Option 1 is to sit down, shut the fuck up, and stay in here. Option 2 is come out and get your ass spanked black—”

 “Option 2,” Steve said instantly, tilting his chin up in challenge. Earlier, it had been a fearful aggression, anticipatory. But now, it was excited. Steve needed this. Bucky may have been angry, but Steve was pissed beyond belief. 

 “I won’t hold back,” Bucky threatened. “And I’ll use the metal arm.”

 The metal arm. Steve had seen its power. It’d be like getting hit by a brass pipe. “You’d better,” Steve snapped. 

 Suddenly, Bucky was in front of him, pressing the metal hand harshly into his back, making him arch up against him. Steve almost lost his balance, which just pushed him closer. The other hand, the flesh hand, wrapped around Steve’s collar, pulling on it roughly and forcing Steve to look up, exposing his throat in a way that was unmistakably submissive. “Twenty hits,” he said, and though it was a statement it sounded more like a threat. “If you’re gonna back out, you’d better do it now.”

 “I’m not going to back out.”

 Bucky turned and yanked Steve behind him by his collar, choking him painfully. Steve scrambled to keep up, almost managing to when Bucky shoved him against the wall. Steve gasped, barely catching himself on his hands before he could break his nose against it. Bucky was kneeling behind him, quickly unbuckling his pants and sliding them down, manhandling Steve into stepping out of them. “You want out?” Bucky whispered, smooth as honey. His lips were so close they brushed against Steve’s ear. 

 “Stop fucking delaying it,” Steve snapped.

 Bucky growled, low and animalistic. Finally, he ordered “Fine. Just remember, you wanted this.” His hand traced around Steve’s throat, fingers catching in the o-ring of the collar. “Grabs your wrists behind your back. If you let go, I’ll know that you can’t handle it.”

 “I can handle it,” Steve bit back. He clasped his hands as Bucky’d instructed. It wasn’t as restrictive as clasping his elbows, but was more restrictive that just clasping his hands. 

 Bucky pulled out a kitchen chair and dragged Steve over by his collar. Bucky sat down and yanked Steve over his lap, continuing to pull him until his thighs pressed firmly against the edge of the seat. “So fucking needy,” he muttered, pulling Steve’s head down via the collar until Steve had no choice but to glare down at the ground. Bucky’s metal hand rested on Steve’s ass, and he jolted, even though he hadn’t hit him yet. “When I spend time with you, I’m not good enough. When I leave you alone, I’m not good enough. Will you ever be made happy?”

 “Nope,” Steve responded automatically, yelping when the first slap came down. It was so much harder than he’d expected, and the metal really did hurt worse than flesh. Bucky smoothed his hand over the agitated skin, tsking soothingly. 

 “Sh-sh-shhh,” he said, way too calm for what the situation called for. “You asked for this. Pleaded, actually. Too bad you can’t handle it.”

 The next slap came down, and Steve had to bite off the noise of surprise. The position they were in was horrible; there was no way for him to move away, no way for him to escape. When Bucky’s hand made impact, his hips jerked forwards, but had nowhere to go, which just made it hurt worse. Regardless, Steve grabbed onto his wrists tighter. “I can handle it,” he promised. 

 Another slap, and another bit off whine. “I don’t know. You seem pretty frail to me. Pretty  _ breakable _ .” As if to prove his point, he slapped Steve hard on the left cheek, then again on the right, not giving him a break in between. 

 Steve thrust against his thigh, more just for some way to release the tension building up than anything sexual. “You bastard,” Steve complained, jolting at the next hit but not making a noise. “You fucking bastard. I wonder what they had to do to you, to make you so sick.”

 “I could ask the same about you.” Another hit, this one so hard the  _ SLAP!  _ resonated, and Steve cried out in pain. The hand holding his collar was removed, so both hands could massage at his cheeks, kneading his ass like they were trying to make bread. “It’s too bad you can’t see yourself,” Bucky commented idly. “All red. It probably hurts a lot.”

 “Your mom hurts a lot.” 

 That got his underwear yanked up, exposing more of his ass and uncomfortably pinching his dick at the same time. Bucky laid a hand on Steve’s neck, forcing it down, and Steve waited for the slap to come. Bucky was no longer touching his ass, which meant he must be winding up a strike. Suddenly, he was touching him, and Steve flinched, expecting a slap, but instead Bucky was just pinching his cheeks, making the already forming bruises flare up. Steve gritted his teeth through the pain. He dug his nails into his wrists. 

 The room was perfectly silent as Steve waited for the hit. Bucky poked his ass a little, pinched it, tapped it harshly with the back of his hand, but never slapped it. Finally, Steve managed to allow his gluteal muscles to relax, which was right when the slap came out,  _ WHAP!  _ Steve cried out, arching his back, and Bucky pushed his head down again. 

 “Stay,” Bucky commanded, giving him a bonus swat on the ass for his indiscretion. “A bitch like you should know how to do that, huh? Sit, stay.” He swatted Steve once as he said  _ sit  _ and  _ stay,  _ then gave him a real hit when he added “Roll over.”

 “I’m getting pretty tired of waiting over here,” Steve complained, knowing he was going red in the face from looking at the floor. “Are you going to start hitting me or what?”

 That earned him another three spanks, all in rapid succession. Bucky didn’t pull his punches, and by the last one, Steve was screaming. After three, Bucky stopped, going back to kneading the bruises. It was like when someone massages you just too hard, no longer pleasurable but painful. Steve was pretty sure that was the idea.

 Bucky sounded out of breath when he asked “What number are we on?” Steve went limp, hoping that meant they were taking a breath. He certainly needed one. Also, he hadn’t been counting; the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. There was another harsh slap, making him squeeze his eyes shut and grit his teeth, followed by a hum of “ _ Slave,  _ I asked you a question.”

 “I don’t know how many we’ve done,” Steve said, teeth still gritted. His muscles were tense, preparing for the next slap, which just made the already forming bruises hurt more. 

 Bucky shifted, and Steve could imagine him shrugged. “Fine. I could go all day; I’m just using my metal arm, after all.” He tapped two metal fingers against Steve’s hole, still hidden by the panties, but not immune to what he was threatening. Steve bit down harder, digging his nails fiercely into his own skin. “But… I’ve got better things to do. And I don’t want to break you. You’re so fragile.”

 “ _ Go fuck yourself.” _

__ Bucky hit him twice in succession, aiming for the lower part of his ass and making him squirm upwards to try and avoid it. Bucky pushed his ass back down, patting it like one would pat the flank of an animal. “It’s fine. We’ll stick with the original twenty. 

I’ll just guess how many we’ve done so far. It’s gotta be at least… three.”

 Steve let out a noise of upset, which quickly turned into a yell when Bucky’s hand landed on his left ass cheek, making him jerk forwards painfully. “You fucking dick, we’ve done way more than that.”

 “Oh really? How many have we done then?”

 Steve’s arms ached, but not nearly as much as his ass. He was going to be bruised to high heaven tomorrow. “Fifteen,” he guessed. 

 “Wrong,” Bucky said with another slap. This one was directly to his thighs, which was somehow worse. Bucky saw the change in his flinch and hummed, pleased. “Oh, did you like that one? Did that feel good?”

 It didn’t, and Bucky knew it. That didn’t stop him from hitting him three more times on the same spot, making it feel like it was on fire, then shoving Steve backwards. “On your feet. You can let go of your arms.”

 Steve was too caught up in his own headspace to realize he’d been given commands. Bucky shoves him upwards, catching onto his shirt to keep him upright and physically unclasping Steve’s fingers from around his own wrists. Bucky shoved him, just once, and Steve stumbled back against the wall. Bucky followed him, huge and dark and looming, taking his hands and pinning them to the wall above him. He hissed, apparently not liking that. “Stay there.”

 He disappeared into his room, then appeared a moment later with two cuffs, separate from each other. He locked them around Steve’s wrists, then attached them to the wall behind him. Bucky hadn’t made much use of the wall mounts, only having really used them once before, but his actions were quick, practiced. Steve was left with his arms open, hands a foot from his waist on either side. The weirdest part? The cuffs weren’t even tightened. Steve could slip out at any time. 

 But he didn’t. Because… because...

 Because he didn’t  _ want  _ to. 

 Bucky shoved him back, making his back hit the wall again. It was Steve’s turn to growl, deep in his throat. Bucky raised his eyebrows at the noise, then grinned. “You like that, huh?”

 “Don’t tell me what I like,” Steve snapped. 

 Bucky’s grin just widened. “You sure? I thought I could tell you whatever I want.”

 Steve kicked him in retaliation, not trying to defend himself, but still hoping it bruised. It was only fair, what with the bruises Bucky’d put on him in the past 24 hours. 

 Bucky kicked his legs apart, putting his feet adjacent to Steve’s to keep them there. They’re hips were touching, and Steve gave an impatient thrust. Bucky looked to the floor in concentration as he started up a rhythm, moving and grinding against him. “I ought to tie you up,” he muttered, dark and low in Steve’s ear. “Ya ‘member that night that I made ya sleep in cuffs? Ya looked so fuckin’ pretty, strung up like that for me. No hands gettin’ in my way.” His voice had taken on a deeper accent, and Steve shivered when he realized it was a mime of his own. Bucky sounded almost like he was from Brooklyn. “I could keep’ya like that all the time. So fuckin’ good. Practically drooling for my attention.”

 “You ain’t ever gonna make me drool,” Steve retorted, grinding back. 

 Bucky gave him that look again, a mix between crazed, excited, and deadly. “Yeah? Ya think?” He pushed two metal fingers into Steve’s mouth, and at the same time pressed against his stomach. Steve found himself sucking. The crazy light in Bucky’s eyes only increased, and he ground harder against Steve’s crotch, making him whine. Bucky made like he was going to pull the fingers out of his mouth, but instead pulled them down, holding Steve’s mouth open like that. The sucking had caused a buildup of saliva, and the new position made it so Steve couldn’t swallow. He drooled. 

 Bucky looked as smug as Steve had ever seen him. “Why, look at that. Who’d’a thought.”

 Steve had just about had enough. He slipped his hands out of the cuffs and wrapped them around Bucky’s body, yanking him close. Bucky made a surprised noise but went, wrapping around Steve just enough to keep himself upright as Steve started thrusting against him, the panties giving off a delicious friction. Bucky pulled them up in the back, making Steve cry out and scrape his nails down Bucky’s back. That made Bucky moan, so Steve did it again, harder this time. Bucky returned his thrusts, grinding against him violently. 

 “I can’t fucking stand you,” Steve said into his skin, biting down on his neck. “Fuck you. Fuck you. F-f- _ fuck- _ fu—”

 And with that, Steve came, all over his panties and Bucky’s hand, which had somehow, sneakily, found its way into said panties to stroke Steve off. Steve collapsed against him, still coming, and Bucky held him upright, stroking him through it until Steve jerked and gasped. He kept stroking even then, only stopping when Steve said “let go let go let go let—  _ fuck.” _

__ Bucky let go of Steve’s poor, overworked dick, and Steve went completely limp against him. “Goddamn,” he muttered into Bucky’s clothed shoulder. “Goddamn.”

 Bucky laughed, so close Steve could feel it reverberate through him. “That’s so fucking gross.” He held up his cum-splattered hand, making a move to get it close to Steve’s mouth. Steve dodged it once, then twice, then opened his mouth and took it the third time, closing his lips around his fingers and pulling back, cleaning them off. Bucky’s eyes were dark and half closed when he looked back at him. 

 All of a sudden, Steve remembered something. He moved his hand slowly down, and yep, Bucky was still hard. He hadn’t come yet.

 Steve undid Bucky’s pants with one hand, slipping it in and palming him through his underwear. Bucky still felt really fucking huge, and Steve was happy to not have to deal with that tonight. He could figure out logistics another time. Right now, he just worked on palming Bucky, going rougher than he normally would with the goal of getting him off. 

 Bucky exhaled sharply, leaning more heavily against him. He rested his forehead on Steve’s shoulder, rocking his hips lightly with the movement of Steve’s hand. 

 “Stevie,” Bucky exhaled against his skin. “How does… how does it…” he inhaled, trying again and finally finished his sentence with “How does it feel?”

 He sounded almost desperate for the answer. It wasn’t a side to him that Steve had ever seen, but he already knew, he liked it. “It feels real fuckin’ good,” Steve promised. “You feel good, Buck. So good to touch. I like it a lot, you know. Holding you, touching you like this.” He squeezed him again, enjoying the way Bucky tried to muffle a whine in his skin. “You need this, don’t you? Need to be told how good you are.”

 Bucky nodded, but the motion was subtle, like he didn’t want to admit it. Then he was tensing up, and before Steve knew it Bucky was coming. Steve felt the front of his boxers grow warm and sticky from it, but he kept palming him, waiting for him to stop and then continuing, for revenge’s sake. Bucky, unlike Steve, didn’t just take it; he slapped Steve’s hand away the moment it became too much, pushing him up against the wall again. His face was still hidden from view when he grumbled “fucking hell, what am I supposed to do with you?” 

 Steve was about to answer when Bucky placed a big hand over his mouth, muffling his response. “It was rhetorical, shut up.” Even then, he sounded fond, and Steve rolled his eyes and closed his mouth. 

 Bucky removed his hand, then just stayed there a while, leaning over Steve’s shoulder to rest his forehead against the wall, catching his breath. Finally, he pulled back. “Alright. Go get cleaned up and meet me in bed. And don’t be fucking late.”

 “Dickhead,” Steve mumbled under his breath.

 “Bitch,” Bucky countered, then swatted Steve on his already sore ass. “Get moving.”

 They reunited a few minutes later in Bucky’s bed. Steve had put on a large shirt and some of his own boxers, and Bucky had changed into something similar, but with shorts too. He pulled him into bed, and Steve all but collapsed on top of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, hi, content warning: smut. Sorta. It’s not /that/ explicit. I’m not planning on changing the rating of this story bc it’s not going to become a porn story, and I’m not going to add warning at the beginning of chapters if they do have smut, but I will avoid any super important plot information in those scenes, so if you’re not down for that, you can skip them!
> 
> Anyways, as mentioned before, I love this chapter. These characters deserved some good hate sex. Please comment and let me know what you think! But in other news...
> 
> *We're going to play a quick game of 'find the safeword'! In this game, the first person who comments telling me the two (2) instances where Bucky puts a 'safeword' in place, wins!*


	24. The Hail

 The next morning, Steve woke up earlier than normal and just laid there. Bucky was partially pressed against his back, a huge presence. The way he was wrapped around him made Steve think of a dragon protecting his treasure. Steve wasn't sure how he felt about the comparison. 

 There was a part of him that felt good. His muscles were more relaxed than they’d been in a long time, the warmth of orgasm still affecting him even so many hours later. Steve had been looking for a fight, and he'd finally gotten it. 

 There was the other part of him, though, the part that knew that what he'd done was worthy of shame. He was a slave, and there was no escaping that fact. That didn't mean he had to be docile. He should put up a fight, throw a tantrum. He should've let Bucky beat his ass last night, and then he should've spat on him. Steve was not a toy. He was  _ not _ . 

 Behind him, Bucky shifted. His covered crotch pushed against Steve's ass, and he closed his eyes. The pain from the bruises was intense. It wasn’t burning, just an intense ache, like a sore muscle. He’d get over it. Until then, he’d just have to manage. He had, after all, asked for it. 

 Bucky shifted again, more aware, and Steve did his best to pretend to be asleep. Bucky got up, looming over him fully, blocking out the light. “Stevie. Your chores.” 

 “I'm up,” Steve said, voice still addled by sleep. He opened one eye, looking at Bucky before closing it again. 

 Bucky climbed over him and made his way to the bathroom. Steve stayed there, feeling strange and out of place in the small bed, and eventually pushed himself up.

 He went through his morning chores, ignoring the discomfort when walking, and tried not to think too hard as he weeded. It didn't work. The more time passed, the more shame he felt. 

 God, how'd he been so stupid? This wasn’t okay. He should've been better. Now, he'd fucked everything up. If he thought Bucky taking liberties with his body before was bad, now he was surely in for a treat. He remembered all the touches from before-- a tug on his collar, an arm on his shoulders, even the more intimate ones, a hand lightly patting his ass, the feel of maneuvering his dick into the cock sleeve-- all of that would be gone, replaced with more malicious versions. He imagined Bucky at the end of his bed, arranging the cock sleeve while Steve watched passively, hands cuffed to the bed frame. He imagined Bucky looking up, smirking, and his touches becoming more personal, fondling, stroking, trying to get him to come again like last night--

 Steve shoved himself to his feet, abandoning his growing pile of weeds to walk. He wouldn't take too long. Bucky wouldn't notice. He didn't have to know. 

 Steve circled their miniature field once, then made a bigger lap. He kept an ear out for Fenris or the geese, but they didn't show. 

 Steve stopped when he got to the edge of the property. There was a clear line where grass and dirt road met. He was not allowed to cross it. Steve knew that; he'd tried before. He hadn't gotten far. 

 He looked both ways, like he would when crossing a normal street back home. Left, right. Left again. He half expected Bucky to appear from nowhere, but he didn't. Left, right, left, right…

 Steve stepped out onto the street. He waiting to promptly die.

 He didn't. 

 Steve just stood there, before eventually scrambling back. He wasn’t done with his chores yet. He wanted to be good. He wanted to be good. 

 When Steve was done, he went inside to shower. He came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, fully planning on pulling out some of his own clothes, only to find some already laid out for him. Ever since their deal, Bucky hadn’t picked any clothes out for Steve except when they went out, and Steve knew for a fact that they weren't going out today. 

 Then came the issue of the actual item of clothing. It wasn’t an outfit, just a single pair of cotton-candy pink panties. Steve stared at them like they’d done something wrong. Was he expected to wear these, with no other clothes? Bucky's asked that of him before, but again, that was before their agreement. But what would happen if Steve denied him?

 Steve ended up going with the middle option: he pulled on the panties, and then baggy gray sweatpants and long sleeved shirt over them. He left his fishbowl, going to the kitchen to see if he needed to make breakfast. He didn't. Bucky was already there when he exited, sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of food before him. He gave Steve a quick, fleeting smile, though he didn't ignore the outfit Steve had chosen.   

 Steve opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when Bucky raised a finger to his lips slightly, a command:  _ quiet.  _ He gestured Steve over, and he went, sitting down obediently on Bucky’s lap. It hurt more than he’d expected, and he winced. 

 Bucky exhaled through his nose, a pantomime of a laugh. “So eager to please, huh?” he murmured. Steve didn’t respond; he was still supposed to be quiet. “That’s not what I wanted, though. Get up.” 

 Steve stood, and this time let Bucky direct him, over his lap like he’d been the day before. Bucky ragged off his sweatpants, pulling them down to his knees. He hummed happily. “You should see yourself. All bruised up. It hurts to sit, doesn’t it?”

 Steve hadn’t been given permission to speak. He opened his mouth, wanting the words to come out, but none did. Finally, he whined, quiet, and Bucky’s hand on his ass stilled. He pulled Steve up then, not bothering to fix his sweatpants. “Stevie?”

 Steve looked away. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want this. 

 “Stevie, talk to me. You said that if you go nonverbal, I need to stop what I’m doing to check in. Well, I’ve stopped, and now I’m checking in, so it’s your turn, alright pal?” He tapped Steve a few times on the cheek, making him blink. 

 “You put panties on the bed,” he said finally. His voice was hoarse.

 There was a pause as Bucky thought of a response. “...Yeah, I did. And I saw that you’re wearing them, too.”

 “Was I supposed to put clothes on over them?” Steve asked, mouth feeling dry. “I thought you said I could choose my own clothes. We agreed. For the days we stay in, I get to pick out my own clothes.” He specified the agreement, like Bucky might have forgotten. He knew he hadn’t, but. But. 

 Bucky rubbed his back soothingly. “Yeah, we said that. But we also said that I’m still in control. Maybe I want to dress you up at home, one day out of the week. So what?”

 Steve shook his head. “No. You—” he almost said  _ you can’t,  _ but that clearly wasn’t going to go over well. “I need to have control over some things,” he said instead, switching tactics. “I’m… I’m a slave. I’m not in charge anymore. But… I can’t live that way 24/7. I have to have my own space… my own  _ skin _ .”

 He wasn’t sure if he was making any sense, but it didn’t matter. As long as he spoke it out loud, he could say he tried. He tried. Bucky asked him to communicate, and here he was, communicating. He was  _ trying.  _

__ But, to his surprise, Bucky didn’t seem to get mad. “I like dressing you up,” he admitted, “and I like the panties, and I can’t necessarily play with them when we’re out in public. So how about this; some days, I’ll set something out for you to wear, like today. And you can choose to wear it or not, with other clothes, or without. You won’t be punished. But…” and at this, he lowered his voice, not dangerous, but still intense, “...if you do decide to wear them, it’ll make me really, really happy.” 

 His hand wrapped around Steve’s waist, pulling him closer, and despite himself, Steve leaned into the touch. “...Yeah?” He said. It wasn’t a perfect situation, but it was a good compromise. It still left Steve with options, with autonomy. That’s what mattered. 

 “Yeah,” Bucky said, and now he was definitely getting more into it. “Now, listen. Later, we need to talk about what happened last night, but later. It’s too early to do it now. I made breakfast, go eat it.”

 Already, Steve felt better. “Can I eat it on the couch?”

 Bucky made a noise. “You’re a menace. Yes, go. Fast, before I change my mind.”

 Steve scampered up, fixing his sweatpants and grabbing the plate off the counter. He went over to the couch and flopped down, eating and letting his mind drift. This was good; this was manageable. Things hadn’t completely changed. Bucky was still Bucky, and while he pushed boundaries and dominated over him, he wasn’t interesting in breaking him like some other masters seemed to be. He wasn’t unnecessarily cruel. Things didn’t have to change in such a huge, ugly way. 

  
  
  


————————-

  
  


 It ended up hailing, from late in the afternoon all the way through the sunset. Steve caught Bucky looking out the window multiple times, frowning in concern. 

 “Are you worried about the geese?” Steve eventually asked.

 He shook his head, still staring out the window. “Nah, the geese would survive an asteroid strike. ‘M worried about the crops. They’re still small enough that they should be able to regrow, but…”

 He left the sentence hanging there. Steve ended up shrugging and going back to his book. It had an English book cover on it, but was actually one of Bucky’s Russian novels. He understood about every fourth word, and was doing his best to mentally fill in the gaps. Despite the potentially dangerous content, he was actually pretty relaxed. He’d ditched his pants a few hours before, keeping his shirt on but still revealing his panties. It was a peace offering of sorts, rewarding Bucky for good behavior.  _ If you give me the free will to choose what I want, I’ll choose the things you want too.  _

__ Steve wiggled his hips a little, sinking more comfortably into the couch. 

 A few moments later, there was a growling, scratching noise, low enough and loud enough it sent a shiver down Steve’s spine, ruining his internal peace. He closed the book, pushing himself harder against the armrest of the couch. “What was—”

 The door opened, and a mass of black bounded in, huge and blurred with motion. Steve made a noise that was a mixture of cursing and squeaking and scrambled up the couch, trying to get as far away as possible from the demon snapping at his feet. 

 “Fenris, down!” Bucky commanded, his voice so firm and in charge that if Steve weren’t already sitting, he would’ve sat. Fenris growled, drooling monstrously, but didn’t bite at Steve again. 

 “The hell is he doing in here?” Steve asked, still climbing up the couch like he was trying to escape a flood. 

 Bucky walked around the couch, plopping down on the cushions. “He doesn’t like the hail. Scaredy cat.”

 “I’m not—” Steve started defending, when he realized Bucky was talking about the dog, not him. He set his jaw, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. Bucky shot him a little smile, letting him in on the fact that he’d caught Steve’s slip up. “He should just go into the barn,” Steve said, trying to divert the subject. “Or just go back to hell, where he came from.”

 Bucky chuckled. He leaned down, patting Fenris’ head and scratching behind his ears. “He’s not a demon. I already told you; he’s just a puppy. Aren’t you, little fennie? You’re just a wittle itty baby, aren’t you, aren’t you! Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?”

 Fenris whapped his tail against the floor in glee. His tail was so large Steve could feel the vibrations through the couch. “He’s going to cause an earthquake,” he commented anxiously. 

 Bucky leaned in and kissed all over the dog’s head, continuing to scratch his fur and smother him with compliments. Apparently, Fenris wasn’t only a ‘good, good boy’ but also ‘such a handsome boy’ and ‘a big fat sweetie, aren’t you, aren’t you!’ Meanwhile, Steve snuck along the back of the couch until his legs were safely behind Bucky’s back. If Fenris wanted to eat him now, he’d have to go through Bucky. Of course, if he tried, Bucky would probably just call him a ‘jumpy little puppy, aren’t you, aren’t you?’ and then push Steve off the couch, literally throwing him to the wolves. 

 After a few minutes of getting Bucky’s undivided attention, Fenris got distracted by something and galloped off to explore. He bumped against the couch, not slowing down at all even as the couch squeaked against the floorboards, moving back a few inches. Steve climbed down from his hideout, directly into Bucky’s lap. He folded his legs up like a baby deer, peeking out from around Bucky to watch the monster explore. Whenever he moved, he was just a blur of black and purple, his coat shiny, the wet dog scent penetrating through the room. He went around, smelling all the corners. 

 “If he pees in here, I swear to God,” Steve muttered. He didn’t feel like he was in danger anymore, but his heart was still beating loud enough that Bucky could probably hear it. “His bladder must be huge. If he pisses, we might be trapped on this couch for the rest of our lives.” 

 Bucky looked amused. “Or we could just, you know. Step through it and wash our boots off later.”

 Steve glared at him. “I’m not wearing shoes, you dick. I’d actually die.”

 Bucky nodded, pretending to sigh remorsefully. “Hopefully, when Sam finds our bodies, he’ll make up a lie for the tombstone. ‘Died in a freak explosion’, or something. Something cool.”

 “‘Shot down by Nazis’,” Steve suggested. He thought it was pretty funny, but Bucky looked uncomfortable. “Although, that’s assuming that there are bodies to find at all,” Steve added, hoping to change the subject from whatever had made Bucky weird. “When we die, Fenris will probably eat us before anyone notices we’re gone.”

 Bucky nodded grimly. “That’s fine. If I have to go, at least I’ll die making sure my puppy gets enough to eat.”

 Steve made a face. “That’s disgusting, and he’s not a puppy, he’s a monster.”

 Bucky shrugged. “Maybe he is a monster. We have that in common, at least.”


	25. The Big Sick

It had been a few weeks since the fight, and Steve’s mind kept wandering back to Natasha. They’d seen each other in passing at parties and events, and had even talked on the night of Peter’s big show, but they hadn’t had a chance to  _ actually _ talk. Steve was ready to change that. 

 So, he asked Bucky if she could come over. Bucky didn’t even look up from his book to ask “Isn’t that the girl who beat you up?”

 “It was a mutual beating,” Steve said, “But yeah. It won’t happen again.”

 Bucky grunted. “It better not.” He seemed to consider it for a moment, then leaned his head back, looking at Steve. “You can see her if you earn it. You gotta be good.”

 Just like that, he went back to his book, like he hadn’t given Steve an impossible task. Steve had already  _ been  _ good; he was the model slave. He did his work, he talked things out, and when they were in public, he put up with whatever humiliating situations he was put in. When people were around, he played submissive, even if it made his shoulders slump and his teeth hurt. He was  _ so  _ fucking good; how could he be better?

 Bucky had been dropping a few hints throughout the weeks, making coy little suggestions. Steve didn’t  _ have  _ to do xyz, but if he felt like it, if he was in the mood, if he wanted to be  _ good,  _ then yeah, he should do that. None of the things were especially bad, just a little uncomfortable. Like the clothes situation. 

 Still, Steve wanted to see Natasha, so fine, he could be ‘good’. After his morning showers, there was often a pair of panties or a suggestion of clothes on the bed for him. He could chose whether he wanted to wear those— which were more exposing and less comfortable— or his normal leisure clothes. Steve started choosing those clothes, usually adding others on top to make them more modest. He wasn’t going to spend his entire day just wearing a pair of underwear; but after a few days of covering up, it became clear that that’s what Bucky wanted. Steve compromised and wore shirts with the panties, but no pants. Bucky clearly appreciated that more. 

 Besides that, he did other things. He made him tea; he stayed close. He knelt without being asked. He was affectionate. 

 He didn’t kiss Bucky, though. They’d kissed when they fucked, but they hadn’t before or after. In fact, they treated that entire night like it hadn’t happened. He and Bucky had ended up talking about it, which was a short discussion that basically consisted of them agreeing it wasn’t some big, new thing. They fucked; it didn’t have to be more. Maybe they would do it again. Maybe they wouldn’t. But Steve had been insistent in that they couldn’t use it as a reward or punishment. If they did have sex, it had to be outside of their relationship as master/slave. 

 Bucky had agreed, not that he couldn’t change his mind. Bucky could do whatever he wanted. The only reason he didn’t just force Steve into what he wanted was that he was playing the long game; he could force Steve, but he preferred him willing. 

 Steve was trapped. He could be a generally fine slave, and be punished by not getting to see Natasha; he could be a bad slave, fighting and causing problems, and be punished by not seeing Natasha and probably getting beaten as well; or, he could be exceptionally good, pushing his own limits, and get rewarded by seeing Natasha. No matter what he did, he was either punished or rewarded, no in between. And even the reward had strings attached.

 He was sitting on Bucky’s lap one afternoon, slightly pink in the face due to the blue lace panties currently pressing against Bucky’s not-exactly-discreet erection, when Bucky put his hand under Steve’s knees and turned him towards him until Steve’s knees dangled off the side of his lap. The other arm was wrapped around his waist, pulling tighter. Steve was tugged closer, held to Bucky’s chest like something precious. Steve tried to ignore the uncomfortable feelings stirring inside him, and instead focus on going limp, complaisant. 

 “I messaged Valkyrie,” Bucky hummed. “She said she’s fine with us borrowing Natasha tomorrow afternoon.”

 It was as if Steve’s heart had been dangling from strings for days, and now finally had been cut down, at ease. Steve let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Thank you, master.”

 Bucky kissed him on the head and went back to his book.

 Steve was distracted enough in his thoughts for the rest of the day that Bucky’s strange behavior went unnoticed. When night fell he found himself cold and in need of comfort, physical reassurance. But Bucky just steered him to the fishbowl, muttering “Not tonight” as he locked him in. Steve frowned at him through the glass; Bucky always let Steve sleep in his bed— in fact, he  _ preferred  _ it. The last time he’d made Steve sleep alone was the night before the trial, when Bucky ended up pacing instead of sleeping. 

 Steve got in the warmest, most comfortable pair of pajamas he had in order to compensate. They’d been a gift from Bucky, chosen out by Steve as part of their agreement. They still felt good against Steve’s skin, if not as good as another body. Steve thought idly that, if Bucky hadn’t rejected him, he might have suggested fucking again. Not that it mattered now. 

 When Steve woke in the morning, it was to the quiet whirring of the door’s lock. It was unlocking itself, though Bucky was nowhere to be seen. 

 Steve went through his normal routine of chores and cleaning. When he left the bathroom, no clothes had been set out, so Steve chose some himself. No panties today. It was just as well; Natasha was coming to see them. Or maybe they were going to see Natasha? 

 Steve walked out to the kitchen, but Bucky wasn’t there. Everything was the same as it had been last night. Bucky’s gear was still by the front door, so he couldn’t have left— right? He wouldn’t have left without telling Steve. 

 Steve wasn’t really supposed to go into Bucky’s room, but he was going to die of curiosity otherwise. He pushed the door open, looking in and finding—

 Bucky, still asleep. 

 The hell was wrong with him? It was late— almost seven in the morning, now, a garish time to still be asleep. Was he dead? 

 Steve crept in, but he wasn’t even halfway to the bed when the floor creaked underneath him. Bucky’s eyes fluttered open and landed on him, unmoving. Then, in one easy motion, he raised his middle finger and flipped over. 

 Steve huffed, and moved the rest of the way to hover at his bedside. “Yeah, fuck you too, pal. Why aren’t you out of bed yet?” 

 “Sick,” Bucky grumbled. “Dying. Dig a hole in the backyard. I’m giving you to Sam.”

 Steve’s heart stuttered for a moment. Then Bucky opened one eye to look at him and clarified, “I’m joking.” He thought about it for a moment, then added “About dying. I am sick, though. If you haven’t noticed.”

 “I’ve noticed.” Besides the obvious signs of illness, Steve also had picked up a few of the subtler ones, learnt from all of  _ his  _ time spent bedridden. “Does this mean Natasha…”

 “We’ll postpone,” Bucky said, a little snappier. “I’m fucking sick, Stevie, you can wait a few days.”

 Steve nodded, even though his heart was back to hanging heavily. 

 Bucky broke his train of thought by coughing loudly, leaning up to spit into a container on the floor. He groaned and flopped back into bed, hiding everything but part of his face under the covers. “Get me tea. And my phone. Gotta call Sam, tell him he was right.” 

 “He was right?”

 “About me getting sick,” Bucky answered miserably. “I told him it’d never happen. But I guess I should’ve expected this, especially after going out with you so much. You can’t get sick if you’re all alone.”

 “That’s not an excuse to isolate yourself,” Steve complained. 

 He shrugged. “Now go on, get me my stuff. You’re working for your food today.”

 Steve couldn’t help but lingering in the hallway a little longer. “Oh no, guess I’m not eating then,” he said, thinking back to the beginning when Bucky monitored his food obsessively. “What a shame.”

 Bucky scowled. “I don’t have the energy for your shit today. Bring me the stuff, or bring me one of your shock collars. I may not be able to get out of bed, but I can still punish you.”

 Steve stiffened, all the playfulness leaving him. He didn’t try to hide his irritation. “Fine.”

 Bucky gave him a pointed look, and Steve responded with a harsh glare. “Yes Master. Whatever you want Master. Would you like me to lick your feet clean master?”

 “Out!”

 And with that, Steve left.

  
  


—————————

  
  


 Bucky spent a lot of time moaning and groaning in bed. Whatever type of sickness he had, it made for a fever, debilitating discomfort, and an excess of phlegm. He spent half of his waking time blowing his nose and hacking into the container beside his bed. 

 Steve tried to avoid him as best he could, but eventually Bucky got annoyed and bored and made him come into his room. When Steve tried to ignore the order, Bucky made him get one of the confirmed shock collars, with its remote. Bucky yanked Steve to kneel at his bedside, maneuvering his head as necessary to attach the new collar. Maybe it was sickness clouding his judgement, or maybe it was his own bitterness, but Bucky ended up pulling the collar too tight, so there was no room for Steve to put his fingers in between the leather and his own skin. Steve was too bitter to say anything about it; for all he knew, Bucky would just make it tighter. 

 After that, Steve sat on the floor against the furthest wall from Bucky, subtly working on his Russian. He was getting good at reading it; listening and speaking were infinitely harder, due to how he learned it, but was managing reading and writing alright. 

 Bucky made him run errands every once in awhile, having him get tea and rinse his phlegm pot. Steve was always exceedingly careful with the phlegm pot. He didn’t know what it was Bucky had, but he knew for sure that he didn’t want it. 

 Steve fed Fenris when it grew dark and then went back to his spot on the floor to watch Bucky writhe miserably for a little while. Finally, Bucky rolled over, giving Steve a pleading look. 

 “What do you want?”

 Bucky looked at the floor by his bed and Steve sighed, getting up. Bucky hadn’t shocked him yet, but the night was young. 

 Once he was at Bucky’s bedside the metal hand reached out, twisting in Steve’s shirt. Steve grabbed onto his wrist, trying to push him off, but Bucky held on. He blinked up at Steve, a picture of innocence. “Get in bed?”

 “Can’t,” Steve muttered, still trying to push his hand away. “You’re gonna get me sick.”

 Bucky whined and tugged him closer, and Steve slapped the metal hand uselessly. “Hey, my immune system is shit, alright?” He snapped, getting a little more panicky around the edges. Could a metal hand transmit disease? Maybe, but not as much as this close proximity. “Getting sick is different for me, it’s worse. It’s gonna agitate— Bucky!” 

 Bucky yanked him onto the bed, on top of him. Steve tried to scramble away, but Bucky made room, pushing Steve onto his back and pinning him in one smooth motion. “You’ll get sick for three days,  _ in  _ three days. The sicknesses here are all fucking weird, super time specific. It won’t hurt your immune system any worse than it’ll hurt mine.”

 “Fine, but I still don’t want to get sick! Bucky, get off!”

 Bucky didn’t get off. He didn’t let up on the pressure. He stared down at Steve intently, like he was something he wanted, something he could take. His hand went a little lower than Steve’s shoulder, then he made it go back up, hissing. “I want you to get sick,” he growled, leaning down to breathe on Steve’s face. “And I’m your master. You do what I say.”

 Steve snapped his head forwards, trying to hit Bucky, but he dodged it with inhuman speed. Steve wriggled underneath him, but Bucky adjusted his grip, pinning him down more painfully. “Bucky, get—”

 Bucky slapped his thigh hard, making him jump. “That’s not what I told you to call me,” he hissed. “I give you freedom in some areas, but only so long as you  _ remember your place.” _

__ Steve managed to get one hand free, but before he could hit Bucky his hand was grabbed. Bucky pinned them both under one hand, above Steve’s head. With the other, he lopped two fingers in the O-ring on Steve’s collar, tugging him up slowly so the collar choked him. Steve kept struggling for a moment, but it was clearly futile. Finally, he stopped, going limp and panting as his airwaves continued to be cut off. 

 Finally, Bucky lowered him back down, realizing his hold to push his hand against Steve’s neck instead. “Who am I,” Bucky questioned, voice dark and demanding. His hair fell over his face, but his eyes were unmistakable, always the most dangerous part of him. He pinned Steve under their gaze. 

 Steve tried to wiggle a little more, but the grip on his neck only tightened, so he gave up once more. He knew the answers to his questions; he just had to say the right words and Bucky would  _ get off.  _ “You’re my master.”

 “What can I order you to do?”

 “A-anything you want.”

 “And what will you do?”

 No, no, no. “Anything you want.”

 Bucky sneered. “And what do I want you to do right now?”

 No, no. Fuck no. Steve swallowed. “You want me to get sick.” Bucky slapped his thigh again and Steve quickly added “Master! You want me to get sick… Master.”

 Bucky leaned back, no longer pinning him down by his throat, just his hands. “So what will you do?”

 Steve felt like he couldn’t get enough air, like Bucky’s hand was still there, closing around his windpipe. “I’ll… I’ll get sick. Master.”

 Bucky sighed. “Good bo— good. Good job, Stevie. Now move over.”

 He shoved Steve over to the side of the bed that was usually reserved for Bucky. It was the side closest to the wall, so Steve would be trapped by Bucky’s huge mass. Bucky sighed again as he settled down, spitting once more into the phlegm pot. “I’m sick with what’s called Vættir’s Fever. It’s like the chicken pox— one and done. It’s better to get it over with sooner. You’ll thank me when your fifty and your immune system is even shittier than it is now.”

 Steve didn’t tell him that that wouldn’t be the case, because Steve would rather die than live here for that many more years. 

  
  


————————

  
  


 Bucky woke up periodically throughout the night, waking Steve up in the process and sending him to fetch something, usually more tea. By the time Steve had to do chores, he felt felt like he’d only gotten half a night’s rest, if that. 

 Bucky tugged at him when he tried to get up. “I’m just gonna do chores,” Steve complained, climbing over him. “Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

 Bucky groaned quietly, not opening his eyes. “Skip most of your chores. Just feed the animals. Come back right away. You have… mmm… three minutes.” He smacked Steve on the ass, aim still perfect even with his eyes closed, and Steve took it as the sigh it was to hurry up. 

 Steve fed the animals as quickly as he could. The urge to run was there, but Bucky had given him the time limit for a reason. As soon as Steve passed his time limit, Bucky would probably be crawling out of bed and reaching for his gun. 

 Fenris watched Steve with interest, as if he knew what he was thinking. Steve would be lucky if Fenris saved enough of him for Bucky to shoot. 

 Steve went inside, aware that he was probably over, but when he reentered the room Bucky was sleeping again. Steve huffed and stole Bucky’s phone, checking the messages. Bucky had texted Valkyrie and Sam in the past day; Valkyrie to reschedule and Sam to inform him that he was right. There were more messages after that, though. 

**Sam:**

**I hope it’s not too bad, man**

**I’ll bring over some soup**

**Bucky:**

**No thanks, my nurse is taking care of me**

**Sam:**

**Ha**

**Okay, just let me know if you need anything**

That stupid—

 Bucky knew that if Sam came over, he’d bring Peter over. He’d also make sure that Bucky was being smart— like, for example, not forcibly trying to contaminate Steve. Bucky was isolating them again. 

 “Hey!” Bucky called from his bedroom. “Get in here!”

 “Fuck yourself!” Steve called back. 

 Then…

_ ZAAP! _

__ Steve winced hard when the electricity bit at his neck. He grabbed at the collar. Of course, he couldn’t get it off— only Bucky could. 

_ ZAAP! _

__ “I’m coming!” Steve yelled. He hurried back into the room, throwing the phone at Bucky. “You asshole, you actual—”

 Bucky was hunched over the bedside table, looking at something. Looking at… Steve’s book. The Russian one. The one he really, really,  _ really  _ was not supposed to have. Except…

 Bucky looked up expectantly. “More tea. I’m going to die of dehydration at this point.”

 “God, I hope,” Steve replied automatically before his brain could catch up. Bucky was looking at the Russian book, but he wasn’t mad. Did he not care? Was he luring him into a false sense of security? Or—

 Oh. 

 The book had a false cover on it. Steve wasn’t an idiot; he knew eventually, Bucky would have to see the book. So he’d put a different cover on it to keep it discreet. 

 Bucky blinked at him. “Tea?” 

 Steve backtracked the way he came, making the tea with trembling hands. He’d been this close—  _ this close—  _ to getting smacked into orbit. What would Bucky do when he found out? That was no small crime: by learning Russian, Steve was disobeying, lying, and doing something inherently, unquestionably bad all at the same time. That wasn’t just worthy of a smack down; that was worthy of the cock cage Bucky had threatened him with once before. That was worthy of… of…

 Steve didn’t even want to think about it. 

 He went back into the sickly smelling room, giving Bucky his tea. Bucky looked back and forth between Steve and the book a few times, before leaning back and declaring “I want you to read to me.”

 Steve swallowed raggedly. “Sure. I’ll get that one you got me a few weeks ago, it’s really—”

 “No. I want you to read  _ that  _ to me.” He gestured to the book with his head, sipping his tea. “The cover looks interesting.”

 For some reason, Steve had always thought he'd die in a noble, heroic way. This felt more realistic. 

 “Fine,” he said, wracking his mind for anything he could do to get away from it. He could spill Bucky's tea, except that'd be suspicious, and the book was a hardcover. “Yeah, fine. I just… my throats starting to feel a little…”

 “You'll be fine,” Bucky said, waving away the concern. “Come here.”

 He wanted Steve to sit on his lap and read, so Bucky could read over his shoulder. Wonderful. Beautiful. 

 Steve wondered if he should start running now and get a head start. 

 Still… Bucky didn’t seem to know yet. Steve still had a chance. 

 He lowered his gaze, acting bashful. “I… I just…”

 Bucky huffed, annoyed. “Look, I'm sorry about yesterday, okay? But I'm sick, and I was really annoyed, and you were being obnoxious. But I was  _ sick _ , cut me some slack.” 

 “Yes master,” Steve said quietly. 

 Bucky's gaze softened. “Come're.”

 Steve shook his head, stepping back. “I want to… to try something different, okay? Will you… will you let me? I promise it will be nice.” 

 Bucky seemed hesitant, but he allowed it. “Sure, sweetheart. What do you want me to do.”

 A few minutes later they were positioned with Steve sitting against the wall of the bed, with Bucky resting his head in his lap. Steve held the book above his head-- out of view-- and pet his hair like he was actually just a slave trying to please his master. 

 “‘m ready,” Bucky mumbled, eyes fluttering closed. “Just stop when I fall asleep.”

 “Okay,” Steve said carefully, “Okay. Um. Okay.” He breathed in deeply.  _ Here goes.  _ “Chapter one. Mr and Mrs Dursley were actually pretty normal. They were the last people you’d expect to be doing anything weird or bad. Mr Dursley was a beefy man, and Mrs Dursley…”

 Soon enough, Bucky's breathing slowed and he fell in to a doze. As soon as he did, Steve let out a sigh of relief and closed the Russian language book. To his knowledge, the first chapter of that had to do with the alphabet. Steve had only been pretending to read it; in reality, it'd been Harry Potter that he'd badly quoted. Steve took a moment to silently thank his mom for letting him read it five-hundred times; it might have just saved his life.

 As soon as he could, Steve would have to hide that book in the barn. He’d been careless; he wouldn’t let it happen again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we have Steve trying to be "good", Bucky getting sicky, Bucky making Steve get sicky with him, and the Horrifying Book Incident.
> 
> Thanks for your patience :) This isn't the only story I'm currently writing. I do most of my writing on my SFW ao3 @DumpsterDiving101. I highly recommend you check that out!
> 
> As per usual, please comment. I'm going to try to get better at replying to them-- I always read every comment, but I know most people prefer to be replied to. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	26. The Big Sick Pt. 2

On the night of the third day, Bucky was especially restless. Steve stayed awake, listening to him breathing, feeling him moving, uncomfortable and unable to relax. Finally, Bucky huffed and mumbled “You still awake?”

 “Nope,” Steve whispered into the dark night air. 

 “Go to my bathroom and get my medicine? The sleep stuff. One pill. Pink bottle.” 

 Steve climbed out of bed obediently, wrapping his arms around himself in response to the cold. He found the stock of medicine easily enough, but there were over twenty bottles to choose from. How much medicine did Bucky actually take? 

 He found the bottle and pulled out a single pill, also pale pink. It was the type of capsule pill that was filled with powder, and there were at least 30 other identical pills in the bottle. Steve hesitated, wanting to steal one— but what for? He’d sleep fine when Bucky stopped moving around. 

_ Escape,  _ his mind provided quickly. Steve considered it, but right now, it’d be useless. He’d just have to remember where the container was. 

 He brought it back, offering it to Bucky along with a glass of water. Bucky took both greedily, mumbling “I hope you just took the one; I count all my pills.”

 “Bullshit,” Steve mumbled as he climbed back into bed. Bucky was narcotic, but he wasn’t  _ that _ neurotic. 

  
  


————————

  
  


 Bucky got better just in time for Steve to get worse. They traded spots so Steve could lean over the side of the bed and spit phlegm into the pot, and Bucky rubbed soothing circles on his back.

 For the first day, Steve was absolutely miserably, cranky and vicious and mean as all hell. Bucky didn’t retaliate or punish him. In fact, as soon as he realized Steve was sick he took the tight shock collar off and replaced it with a loose, pretty little thing. Steve tried not to let it show that the affection was grating on him. He’d become hyper-sensitive to his actions, overly focused on the subconscious meanings. Bucky did something to make him comfortable, so he must have been happy with him. Good Steve, good, miserable, sick little Steve.

 The second day was worse, mostly because Steve wasn’t just miserable, but  _ horny as fuck.  _ He groaned and writhed, but nothing felt good. Bucky looked at him with sympathy. “Pretty bad, huh?” 

 “You bastard,” Steve muttered, his hindbrain remembering the first and only time they had sex, with all the name calling and insult trading. “You… you horrible person. I-- you--”

 Bucky’s gaze softened, taking pity on him. “Do you want help?”

 “Fuck you,” Steve spat, but at the same time nodded. 

  Bucky walked over, looking down at him. “You asking?”

 Steve made himself look away, muttered a quick “Please.”

 Bucky climbed into bed behind him, pulling Steve onto his lap. He clasped Steve's arms in front of him, making him hold onto his elbows comfortably, and Steve remembered the last time, where Bucky had said if he'd let go he'd stop. He held on tighter.

 Steve closed his eyes and leaned his head against Bucky's shoulder. He felt dizzy from the sickness, and then from the feeling of Bucky's hand over his crotch, tugging his pants down. Steve let out a soft whine, eyes still closed. 

 He felt rather than saw when Bucky got Steve's cock out, massaging it in his hand. It filled out easily, happy to finally have been paid attention to. Then Bucky was stroking, stroking, and, and--

 It took a few minutes of heavy breathing and firm strokes before Steve came, gasping quietly. Bucky worked him through it, letting go as soon as Steve was done, and Steve slumped against him, finally feeling the nervous energy escape him. 

 When Steve awoke, Bucky was gone, and he was wearing a different pair of pants. He sighed, thumping his head against the pillow. He knew that he gave in to Bucky too easily, but it wasn’t like he had many options. 

  
  


—————————

  
  


 The third day was supposed to be the last day Steve was sick. So far, Steve’s sickness had followed along the exact same path as Bucky’s, so Steve was right on schedule when he couldn’t relax enough to sleep that night. 

 Bucky slept, because of course he did. Steve managed to wait it out for an hour or so, but after that he was fed up. “Bucky,” he whispered, prodding at his big lump of a body. “Wake up. I can’t sleep, can I have some medicine?”

 Bucky yawned, not rolling over. “Sorry. I only have prescription stuff. ‘Ve got increased metabolism, can’t… can’t give you my medicine. ‘ll put you in a coma or some shit.”

 Steve groaned, nudging at Bucky’s back again. “ _ Master _ , please. I can’t sleep.”

 “Just count sheep or something.”

 “Bucky!” 

 Finally, Bucky rolled over, blinking at him with sleep-clouded eyes. “‘M sorry, I really am. But I can’t help you. Maybe drink some tea? ‘Ve got chamomile.”

 “I can’t get out of bed.”

 Bucky groaned and rolled over, getting to his feet. “Thanks,” Steve said, voice flat with need. 

 Bucky came back a few minutes later with the tea. He waited until Steve drank it, then rubbed his back and tucked him in. Bucky was asleep a few minutes later, and Steve…

 ...was not. 

  
  


—————————

  
  


 Steve managed a full night of misery before Bucky woke up. He frowned at the way Steve was pale and sickly beside him. “You’re not better?”

 “No, I’m fucking not,” Steve grumbled, “because I told you I’ve got a shit immune system. And now I’m going to die of some weird other-planet disease, just because you’re a fucking asshole—”

 “You’re not going to die,” Bucky said simply, getting up and scooping Steve into his arms, blankets and all. Steve was thankful for that fact; he was cold as fuck. “I’m going to call Sam. He’ll know what to do.”

 Bucky was already out of the room when Steve got up the breath to yell “Ask them to at least put me down humanely! I want the good euthanasia!”

 A few minutes later, Bucky returned and picked Steve up, blankets and all, bringing him into the living room. 

  
  


 “Don’t worry,” Okoye reassured. “She’s a virgin.”

 Shuri nodded seriously. Bucky allowed it, and soon Steve and Shuri were left alone, enclosed in the fishbowl. 

 “I thought you had sex with Peter?” Steve said as soon as they were safe. Shuri snorted. 

 “And Pietro. And Natasha. Have you slept with Natasha yet?”

 “Um, no? And ew?”

 Shuri laughed. “Well, I’d highly recommend it. I’d give her a 100% on Rotten Tomatoes, 5 out of 5 on yelp. Beautiful performance. Is this room monitored?”

 She gently pushed at Steve’s chest, and he laid back on the bed, steadying his breath at the sight of the needle. “Don’t worry, Bucky doesn’t care who you fuck.”

 “So it is?”

 Steve considered for a moment, then shook his head. “No. I’ve tested it with Pietro before. And Peter.”

 She nodded, removing a cotton swab. “Then you know that we’re planning an escape?”

 “What?”

 She looked up, her easy going smile dropping. “Ah. I assume that is a no, then.”

 Steve couldn’t believe it. He’d been looking for opportunities for so long, but hadn’t found any. And… they’d mentioned, before, that Shuri was working on an invention, but… she only had knick-knacks, spare parts. Surely, she couldn’t actually…

 “Give me your arm,” Shuri ordered gently, and Steve obeyed immediately, untucking his left arm from the sheets. She began swabbing the skin with an antiseptic cloth. “I’ve created a device that can be attached to a shock collar to disable it. Right now, I have three done and about five more to go, with each taking around a month to complete. The plan is that during a party, we’ll attach the devices to our collars, Gamora and Nebula will take out the guards, and we’ll make a run for it. Peter and MJ have already found a route that will take us back to earth, and Pietro has been securing provisions.”

 Steve was distracted, briefly, when she picked up the needle containing his medicination and flicked it, not even trying to hide it. She gave him a look like  _ please don’t tell me you’re afraid  _ and Steve made himself hold still as she stuck it in his arm, pushing the plunger down. 

 As soon as it was out, Steve asked “What can I do to help?”

 “Find something,” she instructed, suddenly going even more serious. “You need to be doing a part. We need to finish this up in as few months as possible, otherwise something  _ will  _ go wrong.”

 “I’ll find something,” Steve promised. “I will.”

 “You’d better.” Shuri looked around, but their masters hadn’t yet returned. “Look, I don’t know why this has been kept from you. But whatever the reason is, prove them wrong. Avoid any more illnesses or punishments— we are seeing each other at least once a day, and you hardly get out of the house once a week. You do want to escape, don’t you?”

 “I do,” Steve insisted, leaning closer. “I swear to God, I—”

 “Then  _ do better.” _ The front door opened, and even though the door was still closed, Shuri let her tone go drab, explaining blandly “And drink lots of water. The sickness should go away soon.”

 “Shur-ri!” Okoye called. 

 “Coming!” Shuri flashed Steve one last meaningful look, then left, going back to Okoye’s side. 

 The left soon after. Once they were gone, Bucky was entering the fishbowl, sitting on the side of Steve’s bed. He reached out, stroking Steve’s cheek with his metal hand. “You know, I did this for you.” 

 It took Steve a moment to realize he was talking about getting Steve sick. “You didn’t want me to get sick later in life,” he said, voice coming out quieter than he’d intended. The energy had drained out of him sometime between Shuri coming in and Shuri leaving. 

 Bucky hummed, still stroking his face. “That’s right. I told you I’d take care of you— let me do that.”

 Steve closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. He wanted to get better, and he wanted to escape, and he wanted to be so  _ goddamn angry  _ at Bucky for doing this to him, but he just didn’t have the energy. Besides, Shuri had said to avoid being problematic. It was in Steve’s best interest not to fight it. 

 That didn’t make it feel okay. 

 Steve leaned over a little, just enough to press a kiss into the side of Bucky’s hand. He allowed his eyes to flutter open, catching the brief look of surprise on Bucky’s face before it smoothed over to contentment. “Aww,” Bucky murmured, voice deep and low. “You just want to be taken care of.”

 “I do,” Steve whispered. He pushed at his covers, not succeeding much in pushing them back, but managing to get his intention across. Bucky pushed the covers back and climbed into bed beside Steve, pulling him to his chest. 

 “It’s okay. I’ve got you; you’ve gotten your medicine. You can sleep. You’re safe; I’ve got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter:   
> \- Steve got sick sick sick  
> \- Steve couldn’t sleep and Bucky couldn’t give him his meds  
> \- mini handjob scene   
> \- Shuri
> 
> There are some comments from the last chapter that I didn’t respond to because I was trying to make Important Decisions for the story. Sorry about that! But I promise, you have been heard :)


	27. The Solstice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be a grosser one, fair warning. TW for drug use, generally not great behavior, and dub-con. Also, the rating of this story has officially been changed to Explicit, because as hard as I tried to keep it mature, some things just had to happen.

 At this point, Steve wasn’t even surprised. Bucky showed him his clothes— relatively normal shorts and a shirt, both dark gray, plus a suggestive harness studded with fake flowers. Over all of that was a black leather corset. At one point in Steve’s life, the ensemble would seem ridiculous, too far out for even a halloween party. He just wasn’t that type of person. But now, it was practically  _ tame.  _

__ Steve had tried on corsets before, but Bucky hadn’t made him wear one out yet. Steve found that he wasn’t actually all that hesitant about it. This one wasn’t the largest corset he’d tried, meaning that it wouldn’t restrict his back movement too much. There were other things on the bed that Steve didn’t know the purpose of, but he was going to find out one way or another. There was no throwing a fit today; he’d been waiting in anticipation for this party for days. He wanted to ask the others about the plan to escape. He wanted all the details. Maybe there was something he could do to make it come faster. 

 Bucky’s hand on his back made him flinch and look behind him. Bucky gave him a meaningful look, but didn’t say anything about it, choosing instead to command “Strip.”

 It was familiar enough, and Steve’s hands were moving before he’d fully processed the command. He pulled his shirt over his head and then dropped his pants, stepping out of them. He’d just bent down to pick them up when Bucky shook his head in the corner of Steve’s vision. “Those are fine, you can leave them there. Take off the underwear too, and go into the living room.”

 Steve immediately felt his blood pressure spike. When getting dressed for things like this, he usually kept his panties on because his clothes just went over them. Sometimes, Bucky had him change into a different pair, but these ones were already fine. The only other time Bucky had him take them off was to put the cock sleeve on, but even then it didn’t explain why they’d be going to the living room. Somehow, being naked in the fishbowl was alright, but the living room? 

 Was Bucky going to fuck him? He’d said he wouldn’t force Steve, but…

 Steve went into the living room and leaned against the couch, covering himself with his hands. Bucky didn’t come out for a long moment, and when he did his hands weren’t empty. He set the contraptions on the couch, but turned before Steve could see what they were and ordered “Put your palms against the wall.”

 Steve obeyed. By doing so, he found himself standing facing the wall. He tried turning to see Bucky behind him, but then there was a hand on his face, making him turn back so he was staring at the wall. “Be good.”

 “I am good,” Steve snapped. Bucky just chuckled. 

 A piece of cloth slid over Steve’s eyes and Bucky tied it in the back. “There. Now you can look wherever you want.”

 “What are you going to do?”

 A pause, and then “I don’t want to scare you.”

 Steve let out a harsh breath. “Buck—  _ Master,  _ that’s not exactly reassuring.”

 Bucky hummed. “I guess not. But it doesn’t matter, does it?” 

 There was movement around him, and then pressure on Steve’s wrists. Bucky adjusted something and then locked some sort of cuffs into place around Steve’s wrists. That must be why they had to go into the living room— the bedroom didn’t have any wall anchor points for restraints. But it didn’t explain why Steve had to wear cuffs in the first place. 

 Steve was standing against the wall, his body exposed to the entirety of the room. Everything was allowed to look at him, but he wasn’t allowed to look at anything. It was like somehow, Steve had been demoted to something less than an object. The couches had more power than he did; the books were superior beings. 

 Bucky breathed in sharply, directly behind Steve, and he realized that Bucky May have been staring at him. Even worse— Bucky  _ could  _ stare at him. There was nothing keeping Bucky from stripping Steve down, tying him up, and leaving him there, just for the sake of some good eye candy. 

 Then Bucky cleared his throat and Steve slumped with the relief that that was  _ not  _ what was happening. “Alright,” Bucky muttered. “Tonight is a special party. It’s Spring Solstice, which means it’s a bit different from what we’re used to. If you’re good, we won’t have a problem.”

 Something cold touched Steve’s inner thigh and he flinched, too hard to miss. Bucky shushed him gently, and the cold moved. Steve realized with a flush that it was Bucky’s  _ hand _ — the metal one, so high up on Steve’s inner thigh that it brushed against his perineum. His grip tightened, squeezing Steve’s leg, and Bucky’s other hand wrapped around his waist, holding him still. “Shhh. Just relax. Just listen.”

 Steve pushed against him, but because of the position they were in it made it so his bare ass ground back against Bucky. The hand between his legs tightened and Bucky chuckled, rutting back against Steve for a moment before pulling away. “Okay. Stop playing, we have to actually get ready. Hold still.”

 Steve  _ was  _ holding still. He couldn’t move much, what with the way his wrists were locked in place. 

 Something pressed directly against Steve’s cock and he hissed through his teeth, biting off a louder noise. It was  _ freezing,  _ too cold to even be Bucky’s hand. Steve tried to pull away, but when he did he just pressed harder against Bucky. The cold followed, pressing firmer against his cock. He’d been half-hard before, an automatic response, but his erection was dying quickly. 

 The cold was removed, and a new cold replaced it; the cold of metal, but again, it wasn’t Bucky’s hand. Something locked around Steve’s cock, tucking into itself and locking in place. Bucky gave him a quick squeeze and then moved away. “Does it feel okay? Nothing pinching?”

 Steve exhaled sharply as it shifted, still way too cold. “What is it?”

 “A cock-lock. Or, a cock cage, I guess. It’s like the cock-sleeve, but a little move industrial. Spread your legs more.”

 Steve bit down on his tongue and obeyed, wincing again as something was threaded between his legs. A belt looped around his hips and tightened, and a lock clicked into place. “Okay. There we go. What you’re wearing right now is a chastity belt. You will not be getting fucked or doing any fucking tonight. The Summer Solstice is— weird, alright? There’s a lot of drugs, and with inhibitions lowered a lot of people forget their places. That will keep you from forgetting your place, and help others to remember theirs.”

 “You put that… that thing on me,” Steve clarified, “To remind people not to rape me.” 

 Bucky hesitated. “That's a blunt way of putting it, but sure.” 

 “What about my mouth? There's more than one way to assault someone.”

 Steve regretted the words as soon as they came out. He pressed his mouth against his outstretched arm, wishing he would just shut the hell up for once. 

 Bucky's hand snaked around, pulling Steve’s face away from his arm so he could cover his mouth with his hand, like his favorite panel gag. But luckily, Bucky pulled away, humming “No, I won't gag you. Oral sex is harder to hide, I'll know if someone makes that mistake.” 

 Steve opened his mouth to respond, but before he could Bucky slid a few fingers in, effectively gagging him. “Hey. I know you were about to say something mean, and I'm telling you now to quit it. I don’t think it'll be an issue, it’s just an extra precaution. I've never gone to the Solstice with a slave, but I've seen Sam's slaves at it, and, well. You know how they are.” 

 Bucky withdrew his hand and left for a moment, then came back and started dressing Steve. It was awkward, with his hands still cuffed to the wall, but Bucky pulled up his pants and buttoned on his shirt without ceremony. After that came the harness and shoes, a change in collar, and finally, the corset. The corset was tightened like a pair of boots, but not like a pair of ice skates; which is to say, by the end it first snugly but not so snug Steve couldn't breathe. 

 Bucky messed with Steve's hair a little, then uncuffed him and lead him blindfolded to the bathroom. He took the blindfold off in front of the mirror (probably for the sake of drama), and hugged Steve against his chest, letting him see himself. 

 The most surprising part, it turned out, wasn’t the corset at all. It was actually a tie between the hints of color in the outfit (the flowers were pastel, not black) and the flower crown Bucky had somehow twisted into Steve’s hair. He looked like some sort of nature spirit-- maybe a nature spirit with a leather fetish. 

 “You look so pretty,” Bucky muttered, kissing him on the ear. “Here. Take a picture of us.” He handed Steve his phone and wrapped his arms around Steve's cinched waist again, squeezing a little. 

 “I'm not taking a goddamn selfie,” Steve complained idly. Bucky nipped him on the neck and he sighed, holding up the phone for the picture. Steve leaned back against Bucky, posing for it, and they took the picture. 

  
  


\----------------

  
  


 The one saving grace was that Steve wasn't wearing the stupidest clothes by a long shot. Everyone was wearing flower crowns, even Pietro, and none of them were quite as tasteful as Steve's. The other slaves outfits were all notably more colorful than his, and Peter was even wearing eyeshadow, blended to look like a sunset. 

 Those were the first things Steve noticed, walking into the conference room where the other slaves were hanging out and getting ready. It was, however, not what he was thinking about. 

 “Shuri,” he said as soon as he saw her, “Can I talk about it here?” 

 Shuri seemed surprised by his intensity, but nodded, knowing what he was talking about immediately. 

 “Right,” Steve said, squaring his shoulders. Everyone had gone quiet, all watching him. “So apparently there's a plan to escape and no one told me.” 

 Peter looked guilty. “It's not that we weren't going to,” he defended. “You just…”

 “You weren't of use to us,” Nebula finished for him, abrupt and harsh. “You didn’t need to know. You're a liability, especially because of your master.”

 Steve scowled at her. “What's that supposed to mean?” 

 Nebula mirrored the expression. “Your master is a citizen soldier who cares more about dressing you up than fucking you. It’s cause for concern.” 

 “Hey!” Pietro said, standing. “It doesn't matter. Steve knows now.”

 “I do,” Steve said, “But I want to know more. What's the plan? How are we getting back to--”

 Pietro put his hand on Steve's shoulder heavily. “Now is not the time to explain it all,” he said mournfully. “But today is a good day to celebrate it. Fuck, I love the Solstice.” 

 “You just like the Solstice because you get to get high,” Nebula complained. 

 “Exactly! What's not to like?”

 Steve carefully snuck away from that conversation. He spotted Natasha sitting against one wall, and went over to join her. A quick glance around the room confirmed that Gamora wasn’t there. “Are you and Gamora still fighting?” he asked, in lieu of a greeting. 

 She shrugged, so he tried again. “Is she outside with Valkyrie?” 

 “No, she's at home,” Natasha answered finally. “Valkyrie doesn't want her doing drugs anymore.” 

 “Did she… used to do a lot of drugs?”

 Natasha gave him a look. “Steve, every morning I take five different pills designed to make me nice and pretty and compliant. Gamora took them too. Now, she doesn’t. She went through withdrawals-- that's why she hasn't been around for a while.”

 “Oh,” Steve admitted, “I didn't notice.”

 “Well, you haven't been around for a while either. Speaking of, what's your deal? Where have you been? I thought we were going to meet up?”

 Steve shook his head, sighing. “Bucky got sick, and then I got sick… sorry, it's a long story. I don't want to think about it.”

 “Well,” Peter said, slinging his arm around Steve’s shoulder amiably, “Today is a great day for not thinking about things. I personally, am planning on drowning out all my sorrows in cocaine. Care to join me?”

 Steve wrinkled his nose at him, but couldn’t help but smile. “Cocaine?”

 “Not actually,” Peter amended, seeming disappointed by this fact. “All of the drugs are in pill form, and I’m pretty sure they’re all magical hippy-dippy Heidrian drugs, nothing from Earth. But they  _ could be  _ cocaine.”

 Pietro rolled his eyes. “You don’t swallow cocaine.”

 “How do you know that? Have you done it?”

 “No, I’m just not an  _ idiot.” _

__ Peter pouted at him. “I hope I forget  _ you  _ first. What do you say, Steve? Drown out all your sorrows in drugs with me? We could fuck, too.”

 Steve winced at the remainder of the hardware currently hidden under his pants. “Yes on the drugs, no on the fucking. Bucky made himself very clear about that.”

 “Aww, that sucks. Hey, I could suck you off?”

 Steve shook his head. “Nope. I could probably suck  _ you  _ off, but… he might shoot you.”

 “One can only hope,” Peter said sincerely, nodding along. “Okay, I need to focus. You’ve never had Heidarian drugs before, right? Oh God, I have to be responsible. Okay. Um. Don’t take more than seven—”

 “ _ Three,”  _ Nebula corrected aggressively. “He’s got a low tolerance.” 

 “Three,” Peter agreed, like  _ potato-potahto.  _ “It’s okay to drop some protocol for the night, be more publicly sexual and everything. Um, there’s dancing. Did Bucky give you bells?”

 Steve blinked at him. “Bells?”

 “Bells,” Peter agreed, grinning. “It’s okay, I’ll hook you up. Um. Don’t dance with any other masters, because Bucky will probably get scary and possessive, but also… if you  _ want  _ him to get scary and possessive, that’s one way to go about it. Just… yeah. I don’t know, it’s usually a pretty fun night.”

 “Isn’t this the anniversary of Quill’s death?” Shuri questioned. 

 “ _ Pust’ spit! _ ” Pietro yelled.  _ Let him rest! _

__ Peter shrugged. “I guess so. All the more reason for celebrating! It was a year ago on this day that Quill escaped this hell—”

 “—And a year ago today that you got upgraded to sexual lapdog,” Pietro finished. “Congrats. You must be so proud.”

 “I’m  _ so proud!” _ Peter squeaked. “Actually, that reminds me, I’m really,  _ really  _ ready to start getting high. Pietro, do you…”

 Pietro rolled his eyes and pulled a few pills from his pocket. Peter took two greedily, dry swallowing them before pushing Pietro’s hand toward Steve. “Come on. They take a minute or two to kick in.”

 Steve took one, observing it cautiously. The pills were hot pink, and Steve was suddenly reminded that in nature creatures were usually bright colors to warn that they were horrible poisons. He shrugged, dry swallowed one, and blinked. “Bells?”

 “Bells,” Peter agreed. “Come on, I’ll get you set up.”

  
  


————————

  
  


 The bells, it turned out, referred to little spherical bells sewed onto thin belts. Peter helped Steve loop the belts around his thighs, calves, ankles, ankles, wrists, biceps, and waist, until Steve was trussed up like a reindeer and he jingles whenever he walked. Steve jumped up and down a few times, appreciating the noise, and then helped Peter with his own bells. 

 They went back into the main party room a minute later. Some of the other slaves were already there, also decked out in bells. Shuri was already dancing, showing Pietro how to do one move that involved bouncing on his knees and swaying his hips. Pietro wasn’t very good at it, but his eyes were already beginning to glaze over, a drunken smile on his face. Pietro may have been evasive about it, but he clearly had similar intentions as Peter did tonight. Steve wasn’t surprised; Pietro was drunk whenever possible, so it only made sense for him to get high as a kite tonight. 

 Steve was so distracted that he nearly choked when something yanked his collar backwards. He was spun into someone’s grip— a familiar grip, warm and huge and strong. Bucky peered down at him through his goggles. “You’re making noise, kitten.”

 Steve flushed at the name, but he found that it wasn’t the worst one Bucky’d called him. He shifted a little, getting more comfortable in Bucky’s grip. Bucky’d shoved two metal fingers under his collar, making it so Steve couldn’t move away without choking. “I know,” Steve responded, more heat rising to his cheeks. Was that the drugs? “Peter said that bells were traditional.”

 Bucky hummed at that, and reached over to grab something from a nearby table. He fiddled with something on Steve’s collar, then pulled away entirely. It was hard to tell through the mask, but Steve was pretty sure he looked pleased. 

 Steve reached up and felt that Bucky had attached a larger bell to the front of his collar. He jumped once, hearing it ring a little louder than the rest, and smiled. “Kitten?”

 “Kitten,” Bucky agreed. “You wanna sit with me, or do you wanna do something else?”

 Steve hummed, smiling up at Bucky. “Some of the others are dancing. Maybe I could…”

 “That’s fine,” Bucky dismissed, giving Steve a little pat on the ass. “There’ll be time for me later.”

 Steve nodded and was about to leave when Bucky pulled him back. He hugged Steve so his back was against Bucky’s front, and took another thing from the table. Without warning, he stuck two fingers in Steve’s mouth and pulled his jaw down, then dropped something else in Steve’s mouth as he struggled futilely. He forced Steve’s mouth to close, then grabbed him by the hair to make him tilt his head back. “Swallow,” he muttered. 

 Steve swallowed the pill, not understanding the point behind force-feeding him like that. Bucky slackened his hold, nuzzling harshly against whatever exposed skin he could. “Go. Dance. I’ll let you know when I want you back.”

 “Yes Master.”

 Bucky pushed him towards the dance floor. Steve stumbled a bit, but quickly gained his footing. He adjusted his collar so it was a little more comfortable, then went to find Peter. 

 Peter was standing on the edge of the dance floor, watching MJ and apparently trying to collect his nerve. Steve stopped by him. “Hey.” He frowned, realizing something he’d missed before. “Is that a new collar?”

 Peter pouted. “You missed it. After the trial, we had to go back to get the official sentencing, since it was disturbed the first time. They said that Sam is still not guilty, but that from now on I have to wear this collar.” Peter tapper the offending item: a ring of metal around his neck, about a centimeter in diameter. “They basically soldered it on, so I won’t ever be able to take it off.”

 Steve frowned, thinking back to all the times he panicked about his collar and Bucky had to remove it to get him to calm down. “Dude, that  _ sucks.” _

__ “It does,” Peter agreed miserably. “But I’m getting used to it. You seriously hadn’t noticed it yet?”

 “No,” Steve admitted. “But… I guess I haven’t seen you since the trial.”

 Peter shook his head. “I don’t know how you do it. I’d hate getting stuck with just Barnes for days on end— no offense.”

 “None taken.” Steve caught Peter making eyes at MJ again, and he forced himself to laugh. “Alright. Go, dance with her. I’ll stop holding you back.”

 Peter grinned and patted him on the shoulder, following his instructions. 

 Steve jumped when he felt someone behind him, groping his chastity harness through his clothes. He turned and complained “Pietro!”

 “Just confirming my suspicions,” Pietro smirked. Up close, Steve saw that Pietro also had a flower crown on, as well as bright purple eyeshadow at the corners of his eyes. Someone, he managed to make the spring colors look malicious. “Dance with me?”

 “Depends. Will you stick your hands down my pants?”

 Pietro laughed. “Do you want me too?”

 “I think the point of the hardware is so you don’t.”

 “Fair enough.” Pietro raised his eyebrows and offered Steve his hand. It wasn’t like Steve had anything better to do— he took it. 

 As soon as he got onto the dance floor, he felt the second pill kick in. The music suddenly got louder, the colors brighter. Nothing hurt anymore. Steve blinked. “Wow.”

 Pietro laughed. “Yeah. Now you see why I like them so much.”

 “I want… I want another.”

 “That can be arranged.”

 Pietro got Steve another pill, which he swallowed quickly. Then the music changed to something with a better beat, and Steve found himself rolling his hips to it. Pietro took his hands and pulled him close, so they were both swaying and rocking together as the beat sped up to a more aggressive pace, something angry and mean. Steve liked it. He liked it a lot. 

 “Look,” Pietro said, and nodded over to where MJ and Peter were dancing. Peter said something and MJ laughed, louder than Steve had ever heard her. 

 “Good,” Steve muttered. Pietro was so close that there was no need to speak up. “They deserve each other.”

 “That they do.”

 Steve rested his forehead against Pietro’s and adjusted their footing so Steve could put one of his feet in between Pietro’s. He ground down, not rutting directly against Pietro but into the air by his hip. They shifted their feet, getting more comfortable, and sunk into the beat, gyrating and grinding without actually getting too dirty. It was still affectionate, still sweaty and intriguing. 

 At one point, Pietro cupped Steve’s jaw and Steve leaned in, kissing him. They kept kissing as they swayed, taking advantage of the beat and their own cloth-filled heads to just have fun. Their bells jingled as they moved, so they weren’t just listening to the music but a  _ part _ of it. 

 They switched partners at one point, and Steve danced with Peter. Peter showed him how to do a move that included rolling his hips and lowering himself into a squat. It was ridiculously dirty, but that just made it funny. The dance floor was filling up and everyone was high out of the minds, so what did it matter? Steve got good at doing the move, and then he and Peter danced some more. 

 “I’m going to go mess with Sam,” Peter muttered, his lips right next to Steve’s ear. “Get me hard?”

 Steve laughed, surprised to find that he absolutely did not mind. He wrapped an arm around Peters waist, and with the other hand groped his front. Peter wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck to kiss him, and Steve accepted it graciously, their bodies still rolling together, jingling lightly with the music. When Peter was mostly hard, he whined and Steve gave him a little squeeze for luck, then let go. Peter tripped on his way to Sam, but Sam saw and just chuckled, helping him up. Sam, in his defense, looked completely sober. 

 Steve set a mission plan then, and started going along with it. First, he took another pill, fearing that his buzz would leave too soon. Next, he went to hunt down Bucky. 

 Bucky was sitting at a table. He was the only one at that table, though others were sitting nearby. He was already watching Steve. 

 Steve sauntered over, trying and probably failing to walk sexily. When he got there, he climbed clumsily onto Bucky’s lap. Bucky took hold of his waist immediately— he always did that, never wanting to let Steve fall. He was nice like that.

 There was a cheer a few tables over, and Steve craned his neck to see. They were playing some sort of poker, with Valkyrie as the dealer, and someone had just won the jackpot. Doctor Strange stood, a little tipsily, basking in the praise and reaching for his prize. His prize— which just happened to be Natasha. She crossed her arms over her chest to cover herself. 

_ Stevie.  _

__ “ _ Stevie.  _ Kitten _. _ ”

 Steve blinked, turning back around and trying to get his eyes to focus on Bucky. He smiled a little drunkly. “I think I need another pill.”

 Bucky chuckled breathily. “That can be arranged. How many have you had so far?”

 Steve exhaled, smiling. “Not enough.”

 Bucky fed him another pill— much more gently, this time— and Steve giggled as it started taking effect. He slumped against Bucky’s shoulder. “Oh, I  _ like that.” _

__ Bucky was laughing at him, but Steve didn’t care. He sat up clumsily, accidentally pushing against Bucky’s clothed cock before getting his bearings again. He was… something. He was… something. He felt… something.

 Horny?

 “Hey, kitten,” Bucky said, and Steve became instantly aware of the bell around his neck, jingling with his every movement. “Hey, sweetie. Look at me?”

 Steve made his eyes go up, meeting Bucky’s, except… Bucky was still wearing the goggles. Steve frowned. He didn’t like those. 

 Steve rested his elbows on Bucky’s shoulders, leaning in seriously. “Bucky.”

 “Yeah?”

 “I want…” Steve chewed on his lower lip, trying to figure it out. “I want. Let me?”

 “What do you want, sweet pea?”

 “I want… I want something. Something. Please. Let me?”

 Bucky’s voice was low, gravely. Steve really liked it. “Let you what? Tell you what— kitten— why don’t you show me what you want?” 

 Steve nodded, bobbing his head up and down. His hands were a little disobedient, not wanting to listen to his brain, but he managed to get them to reach around Bucky’s head and undo one of the clasps. He pulled Bucky’s goggles off and set them on the table, frowning but ignoring them when they missed and fell to the ground. Bucky inhaled sharply and grabbed his wrists, but he didn’t stop him when he started tugging on the straps of the mask. 

 Steve pouted. “I wanna see you.”

 Finally, Bucky let go and reached around to pull off the mask himself. He set it on the table, and hardly had time to look at Steve again before Steve was lunging forwards, wrapping his hands around Bucky’s face and yanking him into a kiss. Bucky didn’t like people to see his face. He was anxious. He was scared. Steve would protect him; Steve would hide his face with his hands and his mouth, so that way Bucky didn’t have to be scared.

 Bucky was the one to pull back, brushing Steve’s hands away and making him whine. If Bucky made Steve move, then other people would be able to see him. He didn’t want that. Still, he made Steve move. 

 “Lookin’ good, Bucky!” Valkyrie called from across the room. Valkyrie was also very, very high. 

 Bucky flushed, but he didn’t look away from Steve. “Is that what you wanted?” His whispered. 

 Steve nodded, feeling a little childish. But then Bucky was playing with the bell on his collar, and Steve couldn’t help but smile. He reached over blindly, feeling around until his hands found a bowl. He dipped his fingers in, taking one of the pills blindly and pressing it to Bucky’s lips. Bucky swallowed it, then surged forwards like a force of nature, kissing Steve roughly. 

 One of Bucky’s hands dipped down inside the back of Steve’s shorts. He wrapped his fingers around the chastity belt and tugged on it, making Steve gasp. “How does it feel, baby?”

 “Bad,” Steve admitted, feeling his cheeks go pink. “‘Wan you to take it off.”

 Bucky raised his eyebrows. “You want me to take it off?”

 Another nod. “Wan’ you tuh… tuh take’t off. An’ then… an’ then fuck me. Please, please master? Pretty please?” Steve was sitting with his knees on either side of Bucky’s thighs. Bucky had  _ huge  _ thighs. Steve adjusted himself, scooting closer so his crotch was above Bucky’s crotch and he could grind down, like they were dancing. Like they were dancing, except they were sitting, and Steve’s cock was caged. “Please, master? Don’t you  _ wanna  _ fuck me? I really wanna… I wanna feel you. In me. For the rest of the… the rest of the week. Like… like when yuh said, that you’d spank my ass black. And then, and then you did. Except it was just red, not black. But it felt really, really good. And, and the day after. Bucky, master, it hurt so much to sit, that’s all I want. I just… I really, really want it, master, please. Please?” Steve batted his eyelashes, pouting his lips. “Please?”

Bucky looked frozen in place. Steve could actually see his face, for once— why was that? Oh! Steve had taken his mask off, right. They were in public, and Steve had taken Bucky’s mask off, because he’d wanted to see him and kiss him and tell him what he wanted. Because… because Bucky cared about what he wanted. He let Steve sit on the couch and read his books in English and wear his boxers. Because Bucky  _ loved  _ him. 

 Steve pouted some more. “Bucky? Bucky, master, please? Please please?”

 Finally, Bucky shook his head, waking himself up from his daze. “I— I think we should go home now. I need to take you home. Come on, kitten.” He scooped Steve up, not even making him walk. Steve clung on for dear life as Bucky leaned down to pick up his mask and goggles, but Bucky didn’t put them back on, which was a win. “Come on, sweet thing. Let’s go home.” 

 Steve grabbed one last hot-pink pill off the table, but before he could Bucky took it from him, tsking. “Nuh-uh, I think you’ve had enough of those.”

 Steve whined, “Nooo. I want it, I want another.”

 “No, don’t you want to go home? So I can fuck you?”

 Steve sat up in Bucky’s arms. “Yes! Yes, master, Bucky, that’s what I want. Come  _ onnn _ , I just wanna go home so you can hold me and fuck me and I can feel it for the rest of the week—” 

 “Okay, okay sweetheart.” Bucky adjusted Steve in his arms so he could start walking. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

 “Home. Home. So you can fuck me?”

 Bucky sighed. “Yeah, so I can fuck you.”

 “Yeah. Yeah,” Steve repeated. “Yeah, ‘s whatta want.”

 Bucky’s deposited Steve in the truck, then went around to the other side. Steve remembered then, that Pietro had given him another pill to keep in his pocket. He swallowed it quickly, so Bucky wouldn’t see. 

 Bucky got in the cab and Steve quickly snuggled up beside him. “I’m ready master. I’m ready for you to go home and fuck me.”

 “Alright. You have to let me buckle my seatbelt, first.”

 Steve wiggled away to let him, then immediately wiggled back into place, resting his head on Bucky's shoulder. Bucky chuckled. “I should get you more of those drugs, you're so happy with them.”

 “Yes, sir. Yes yes yes, very very happy.”

 Steve fell asleep sometime on the car ride home, but he woke up when Bucky carried him inside. “Buckyyyy… my dick hurts.” 

 “One sec, Stevie, I'll get the cage off in a minute.” 

 Bucky deposited Steve on the couch and then left to do something. When he came back, he gently undid Steve’s shoes and then shucked off his pants. He wasn't wearing underwear underneath, just the cage and chastity belt. Bucky took the belt off first, then left the cage on while he gently massaged Steve's balls. 

 “Bucky,” Steve murmured, sounded wrecked even to himself. “Please.” 

 “I probably shouldn't do this,” Bucky muttered, and then there were two lubed fingers in Steve's ass and he moaned. Bucky pumped his fingers in and out, bending them and wiggling them to stretch him. Steve moved around a bit, still in his other clothes, but stopped when Bucky told him to. 

 Another finger was added, and it stayed there until Steve was literally begging for more. He didn’t get any, however; Bucky pulled out and picked Steve up, setting him on his lap. 

 Bucky undid his pants and pulled out his cock. He was hard. He was also huge-- how had Steve forgotten?

 “Bucky,” Steve whined, leaning his head on Bucky's shoulder. “The cage. It’s still on, you didn't, you didn't take it off.”

 “Shh, I know sweetie. You'll like it, just trust me.” 

 “Buckyyyyyy…”

 “Shh, baby. Just trust me.” 

 Bucky pushed Steve down onto the couch, leaning over him. He lined himself up, and then—

 Nothing. 

 Darkness. 

  
  


————————

  
  
  


 Steve woke up in Bucky’s bed. He was warm, both because of thick comforter covering him and the large, warm body wrapped around him. Steve whined, wiggling a bit to get more comfortable. He must have woken Bucky up, because then the body behind him was groaning, his huge arms wrapping tighter around Steve and pulling him closer. Steve suddenly got a new input of information: he was naked, and his ass hurt. It hurt… a lot, especially considering that he didn’t expect it to hurt  _ at all.  _ What had they done last night?

 “Bucky?” Steve whispered. Bucky grunted in response. “Did we have sex?”

 Bucky made another noise, then reached up to play with Steve’s collar. For some reason, there was a bell attached to it, a little round thing like what might be on a cat’s collar. “We tried,” Bucky mumbled finally. “It didn’t work, though. You’re too little, I couldn’t get you stretched enough. Then you passed out and I decided it wasn’t worth the hassle. How much do you remember?”

 Steve blinked a few times. “I… we were at the party. Peter helped me put on… bells? On my legs, and arms, I guess. And then… I don’t know.”

 Bucky must have heard the distress in his voice, because he leaned forwards and kissed the back of Steve’s neck, right above the collar. “Shh, baby, it’s okay.”

 Steve wrinkled his nose in disgust. Baby? When did Bucky start with the pet names?

 “I’ll take care of you,” Bucky continued. “I’ll always take good care of you, kitten. You don’t need to worry about a thing. Listen, it’s still early. Why don’t you go back to sleep for a little while? I’ll wake you when it’s time for chores.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry. That was gross. In my defense, that scene was going to be grosser, but I decided you guys didn’t deserve it. 
> 
> Lots happened in this chapter! This was a long boi. There was the obvious part at the end (is enthusiastic consent valid when you’re high out of your mind? What if you’re super high, and the person you’re having sex with is just slightly high? Discuss below— there is a correct answer). Then, we also learned some other fun stuff, including:   
> \- Gamora no longer is allowed to take drugs   
> \- Peter got a new collar that is horrible   
> \- Pietro and Valkyrie continue to abuse substances (no surprise there)  
> And   
> \- That gross scene with Natasha and Strange that We're Not Talking About (it will come into play later)
> 
> However, good news, we are nearing the endgame! I promise that this was the grossest chapter in this book, so if it was too much for you, good news! You won’t have to suffer through it again. 
> 
> Please don’t give me hate for this chapter :( I know there were some very not good things that happened, but I promise that they’re relevant, and that the next chapter will be major major plot. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought!


	28. The Traitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sat down a few hours ago and started writing and I just never stopped. This chapter was originally 7k words, but so much happened that I eventually decided to split it up in two. The next chapter is seriously a dozy, but I think this one is nice too ;)

 Steve’s ass was still sore as he went to do his chores. 

 He tried to put together the pieces of his memory while he weeded, but there was literally nothing from after he took the first pill. All he knew was how the night started, and then how the night ended: with Steve naked in Bucky’s bed, his hole stretched and painful. 

 What had Bucky said?  _ You’re too little; I couldn’t get you stretched enough.  _ So… he’d tried to have sex with him— to fuck him— but the size difference was too much. Bucky literally didn’t fit, so he gave up, because Steve was unconscious by that point and therefore boring. 

 Steve went inside, showered, and went into his room to see what Bucky had set out today. Today, there was a simple, silky jock strap, and to Steve’s surprise, a buttplug. There was no explanation along with it, no note or specific request, just the plug and a bottle of lube. 

 Steve was supposed to be obedient. He was supposed to make Bucky happy and avoid punishment, so he could go to lots of parties and make plans with the others to escape. But…

 But…

 His ass still hurt. He had an image in his mind of himself, naked, unconscious, with Bucky looming over him, pushing in. It didn’t fit, but Bucky kept trying, fingering him roughly, holding him open, trying again. Desperately trying to get off using Steve’s body, and failing because Steve was too small a human. 

 There was probably more to the story, but the problem was, Steve didn’t  _ have  _ any of that information. He only had the before and the after, and he was forced to make his own conclusions based on that. 

 So no, he wasn’t wearing the slinky jockstrap, and he sure as hell wasn’t wearing the buttplug. 

 Steve got dressed in a pair of comfortable boxer-briefs, and then another pair of looser boxers over them. Then he pulled on a pair of thick, loose pants, and over those, he pulled on his comfort shoes. The shoes were sleeves of fabric like loose socks, and he tied the ribbon up them as tight as he could, double-triple verifying that they’d stay on and up. He added a large, soft shirt, and considered a harness for a few minutes before deciding the easy grips overruled the comfort of pinning down his shirt, and discarding it. He put the jockstrap back in his drawers, and got a tissue to take the buttplug and hide it in the back corner of the closet. He hid the lube under the bed— he might still need it. 

 He really, really hoped he wouldn’t need it. 

 Bucky was still in bed when Steve left, so he went to the kitchen to start up breakfast. Comfort foods; carby and fatty and sweet. He made tea— two mugs, one for each of them— and just finished dishing up the plates when Bucky came out. Bucky was also dressed in leisure clothes, though his had thin sleeves that revealed the entirety of his metal shoulder, and his hair was wet from a shower pulled up. He took his seat at the table and allowed Steve to serve him. Steve squeezed his eyes shut when he felt Bucky snake his arm around his waist, pulling him back against him. Steve kept his eyes shut as Bucky groped him, unabashedly. He didn’t need to open them to see Bucky’s face of confusion, annoyance. He could  _ feel  _ his irritation on the way Bucky paused, his hand loosening it’s grip on Steve’s ass, in the center, where, if he were wearing a plug, Bucky would feel it. 

 “I don’t suppose you saw the present I left you,” Bucky hummed, deep and low. He didn’t let go.

 “I saw,” Steve made himself say. All he wanted was to get Bucky’s hands off of him. “I just— I’m sore? I’d like a break. Just, just a little one. Just want to… to relax and recover, before we try… anything else. Please? I normally wouldn’t ask for it, but I just… I know how you like communication. I want to communicate with you.” 

 The silence was deafening. Finally, Bucky took Steve’s hands and put them on the table, making him brace himself there as Bucky ragged down his pants, taking all three layers at once like it was nothing. Steve’s defenses were  _ nothing _ . 

 Bucky groped him lazily, kneading his ass like it was bread dough. Steve let out a single whimper before biting his tongue. 

 “You’re still a little red down here,” Bucky said. His thumbs snaked in between Steve’s cheeks, pulling them apart to see his hole, massaging all the while. “A little pink. I can see why you're sore.” 

 He poked one thumb in and Steve winced, clenching down instinctively. Bucky removed his hands, patting Steve's ass and saying “bend over the couch for me?” 

_ No,  _ Steve wanted to say,  _ I asked for space. I asked for a break. Don't, just-- just-- _

__ Steve went and did as he was told, bending over one of the couch's armrests. His pants-- all three pairs-- fell down around his knees.

 Bucky left and returned a moment later, cooing in appreciation. Something cold touched Steve's hole and he winced before the relief hit him, and he moaned. Behind him, Bucky chuckled. “I knew you'd like that. It’s a healing salve.”

 Bucky pulled his pants up for him a moment later, Steve's hole still tingling pleasantly. Steve had half expected Bucky to try to fuck him, but this was much better. Bucky wrapped him in a hug, placing a few kisses on his neck. “Eat your breakfast,” he ordered, “And then take the morning to relax. Go outside, maybe draw me something pretty. Come in for lunch?” 

 Steve nodded, his entire body going lax at the comforting touch. “Yes master.” 

 Bucky kissed him on the jaw again and pushed him away to eat. 

  
  


\---------------------

  
  


 Steve spent the morning in the barn. There was one rafter he’d found that was under a hole in the roof, letting in lots of sunlight. Steve sketched idly there for a while until he heard Bucky calling for him.

 Steve stuck one finger under his collar, massaging the tender skin there. This collar didn't have any metal on the inside, so it wasn't electric.Bucky hardly ever used the electric collars on him anymore, though he still pretended they were  _ all  _ electrified. 

 “Stevie! Time to come inside.”

 Steve kept rubbing the inside of his collar. As nice as the salve had been, he still didn't want to see Bucky. Maybe, if he just didn’t respond…

 There was a light shock to his neck, and Steve almost fell off the rafter. His brought his finger back up to his collar, but he still didn’t feel any metal bits. So how…?

 “ _ Ste-eve! _ ”

 Steve jumped off the rafter, not wanting to idle and get shocked again. Unfortunately, he hadn’t thought his landing through, and as soon as his feet hit the ground there was a loud  _ WOOF!  _ Steve was already so conditioned that he didn’t even try looking behind him to catch a glimpse of the monster behind him. He sprinted over to one of the barn stalls, leaping onto the wire upper half and throwing himself over. He landed on his side on the other half, groaning in pain, but safe from Fenris Wolf. A moment later, a huge body slammed against the other side of the gate, bear claws scraping at it futilely. Steve winced, curling into his aching side, and then flinched again when his collar sent out another shock. 

  
  


—————————

  
  


 When Steve finally got inside, Bucky was in the kitchen, casual as anything, like he hadn’t been periodically shocking Steve until he came inside. Bucky saw him as soon as he came inside, and he managed to keep his expression under wraps, but Steve knew he wasn’t as nonplussed as he was pretending to be. The gun was out by the front door, likely locked and loaded, just in case Bucky had to chase Steve down. 

 “Lunch is ready,” Bucky said, patting Steve on the shoulder as he carried food over. 

 Steve crossed his arms, not moving towards his seat. “You’re hell-dog was distracting me. Also, since when was this a shock collar?” 

 Bucky looked up at the second part, surprised. “Um, since always? I told you, most of your collars are electric.”

 Steve wondered if it would be giving up a disadvantage to tell Bucky about the metal pieces on the inside of shock collars, that distinguished them. He ended up deciding he might as well tell Bucky; it turned out that that tell wasn’t fool-proof. “I thought the only collars that were electrified were the ones with the metal points on the inside.”

 Bucky shifted uncomfortably. “That’s the old design. This is a newer version. I, um, noticed that you were picking at the collars with the metal bits. I saw this style in one of my magazines, thought we could try it. Do you… like it?”

 Steve was so surprised he forgot to censor himself. “I hate it, it’s a collar,” he said, which automatically earned a scowl from Bucky. “But it’s… comfortable, I guess? You’re right, I didn’t like the metal nibs.”

 Bucky quickly averted his gaze. “You’re… welcome.”

 “Thanks.” Steve’s mouth suddenly felt horrifically dry. “You made lunch?”

 “I made lunch,” Bucky agreed, apparently feeling the awkward tension just as much as Steve did. “Sit. Eat.”

 “Yes Master,” Steve said boredly. He caught Bucky smiling a little before Bucky cleared his throat, looking away. “Hey,” Steve snapped, the word not coming out as harsh as he wanted. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you about last night. I don’t remember… any of it, really, but I know I was high and incoherent and you fucked me. And— and it still hurts. And it’s still not okay.”

 Bucky rolled his eyes. “I own you, I can do what I want.”

 Steve crossed his arms tighter over his chest. He was suddenly hyper aware of his two pairs of underwear; it didn’t feel like enough. “No you can’t. I told you, if you don’t at least let me pretend to be a human, I’ll… kill myself.” Steve bit the inside of his cheek; the threat sounded empty to even him. 

 Bucky ambled over to him, stopping when he was directly in front of Steve. Steve had to crane his neck back to see him, and the action in itself was enough to make his cheeks heat up in shame. He squeezed his arms tighter. 

 “Shut up,” Bucky muttered, in a tone that sounded like a concession. “And go eat your lunch.”

 Steve was pretty sure that was the best he was getting. Either way, his palms were too clammy and his legs too weak to keep fighting Bucky on it. When Bucky grabbed him by the O-ring of his collar and dragged him towards the counter, Steve shuffled along quietly. He tried. He tried; that’s all that matters. 

  
  


——————————

  
  


 That night, Bucky stripped Steve down to his boxers. He pulled the band back, giving Steve a raised eyebrow at the double layer, but let him keep it on. Then he curled up against Steve’s back and nuzzled against his neck until Steve was completely limp and relaxed against him. Then Bucky wrapped an arm around Steve’s waist and pulled him impossibly closer, sighing happily against his neck. Steve kicked his legs out a little, but that just made him more comfortable. He sighed, shifting his weight back against Bucky. 

 It was disgusting, probably. Definitely. It was definitely disgusting. But… Steve had never had a serious relationship, the type where the nights ended in bed, together. He had to admit, he liked it. He liked it too much. He liked it enough to forgive Bucky and just be his happy little pet, all smiley and cuddly. And that, on its own, was enough to make Steve very, very scared. 

  
  


——————————

  
  


 Steve was wearing a loose, light colored shirt, cinched at the waist with the same corset as the one he wore to the Solstice party. Bucky’d also given him eye makeup, a thin layer of smudged black, and some sort of hair chalk. Steve didn’t really understand how the chalk worked; basically, Bucky had worked a bunch of black powder into the roots of his hair. It made it look a little like his natural hair color was black, and it was just dyed blond, with the roots grown out. When Steve had first seen it, he’d been indignant— he was a natural blond, alright, and no matter how much Clint joked about it  _ I don’t dye it, okay, so if you wouldn’t mind shutting the fuck up— _

__ Usually when Steve got to that point, Clint was too busy laughing his ass off to keep teasing him. Steve would huff, maybe punch him in the arm, but he knew it was all in good fun. Clint wouldn’t tease him about it if he didn’t know it’d get a rise out of him. 

 So yes, it was an automatic response for Steve to get annoyed when he saw the effect the chalk had. But after a few minutes of getting used to it, he had to admit, it wasn’t half bad. It  _ was  _ a more angsty look than he was used to, however, and he wondered idly if Bucky was dipping back into a full-on emo phase. 

 When Steve left the bathroom, he found Bucky scurrying around, tidying the already clean house. His hair was down, only slightly hidden under a baseball cap, and from the back Steve could already see he was wearing different clothes. They were all-black, and while his shirt was cotton, his pants were leather. There was something off about the pants. They didn’t look like average leather pants— more like the type of pants a soldier would wear, if soldiers wore leather. They had compartments and knee pads, and were tight enough to see the shape of Bucky’s muscled legs underneath. His shirt was also tight, giving the suggestion of a muscled back underneath and emphasizing his huge arms, both flesh and metal. Steve watched as Bucky slung his gun over his back, fiddling with the straps. He turned to Steve, and Steve physically took a step back, bumping into the doorframe. 

 “You ready?”

 “Your mask,” Steve blurred out. “Are you not— um—”

 Bucky straightened threateningly. His clothes weren’t particularly intimidating; what scared Steve was the fact that he wasn’t wearing the mask or goggles— or, hell, even grease paint. His face was completely clean, normal. What scared Steve was his intense expression, like Bucky was getting ready for a dirty fight. That wasn’t the face of someone about to go to a party— that was the face of someone about to go to war. 

 “Do you have a problem with that?” Bucky challenged. 

 Steve knew that he was openly gaping at Bucky, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. “I— no, I just—  _ why?  _ I thought you were, uh, anxious.”

 Bucky shrugged his shoulders, avoiding Steve’s gaze. “I just decided it was time for a change. At the last party, someone, um, convinced me that there were advantages to leaving the mask behind.”

 “‘Someone’?”

 “Shut up,” Bucky snapped, eyes big. “Are you ready, or, or—”

 “Yeah, yeah, I’m ready,” Steve said quickly, not wanting to put Bucky more on edge than he already was. “Come on. This chalk is going to take forever to wash out; we might as well let people see it.”

 That got Bucky to crack a smile. He looped an arm around Steve’s shoulders, tugging him with him to the door like they were two old pals. “You look great.”

 “I look like I’ve got  _ black dandruff _ ,” Steve complained. In response, Bucky pulled him even closer and roughly kissed him on the hairline, right where the black coloring started. Steve made an annoyed noise and shoved him away, but Bucky pulled him close again easily. 

 The took the public trucks to the party. After about a minute of looking anxiously at the passing land, Bucky pulled out a vicious looking knife and started flipping it without looking. Steve gritted his teeth and sat at Bucky’s feet, as far away from the knife as he could manage. Steve did not come all this way just to die from something as stupid as accidental impalement. 

 They got off the truck a few minutes later. Bucky hadn’t dropped the knife, and no impalement, accidental or otherwise, had occurred. They walked through the city, following a familiar path and then diverting at the last minute. They arrived in what Steve could only call the suburbs. The houses were closer together than American suburbs, but Steve grew up in New York, so he wasn’t used to a big yard anyways. 

 They went inside a house without knocking. Bucky’d leashed Steve as soon as they started walking, which came in handy when they got to the house. The decor inside was insane— glossy dark floors and shining brass walls draped in tapestries of green and red. There were decorations everywhere, from intricately patterned elephant gargoyles to a huge vase of spears in one corner. Steve stared at everything with wide eyes, dragging his feet as Bucky pulled him along by the leash. 

 “Aya! Barnes!”

 Steve looked up in time to see Okoye moving to greet Bucky with open arms. She was wearing her normal clothes, plus more jewelry and a huge piece of shining red fabric attached to her arms like some sort of cape. She came up and gripped Bucky’s shoulders in a way that screamed comradery, looking him over. “I’d practically forgotten what your face looked like,” she said, seeming genuinely excited. Up close, Steve could see that her lashes were longer than natural, and her eyeliner was gold. The last person Steve saw with gold eyeliner was Sam, and he didn’t look nearly as good. 

 Steve was pulled back from appreciating her fashion— and wow, he knew he’d been spending too much time around Bucky when he started getting excited about  _ fashion _ — when he realized that Bucky was panicking. His eyes were huge, showing white all around his irises, and his mouth was open dumbly. “Uhhh.”

 Steve casually kicking Bucky in the calf. It surprised him more than it should’ve, sending him jolting forwards, but at least it woke him up. “Um. Alright.”

 It wasn’t much, but at least it was a response. Okoye grinned like a lioness and pulled back. “I’m glad you could come. There are drinks and Nakia made traditional  _ kenkiliba.  _ The slaves are upstairs in the slave quarters, I think in the office. I don’t know, but I’m sure your boy can find it. Just follow the noise.” She flashed Steve another full-toothed smile. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen someone with canines as sharp as hers. 

 She was gone as quickly as she’d come, probably going to greet more guests. Bucky kept dredging forward, tipping his face down so his hat cast his face in shadows. 

 Bucky made a beeline for a seat at the edge of the crowd. He hurried to sit, and Steve kneeled at his side for lack of something better to do. 

 The seat on Steve’s side was empty, but the large armchair to Bucky’s right was occupied by a familiar looking woman. She had bronzish-orange hair down to her ribs. Steve frowned at her, and as if sensing him, she turned and met his eyes with a soft smile. “Oh, hello Steve.” 

 Bucky seemed torn between staring and scowling. It wasn’t common— or polite— for someone to address a slave before their master, and it was definitely weird for someone to know who Steve was, but not Bucky. 

 Steve racked his mind for her identity, but it only came to him when a man joined her, sharing the wide armchair and smiling fondly at her. He handed her a steaming mug, and was holding one of his own. 

 “Strange,” Bucky said, looking relieved to see a familiar face, and her name finally clicked into Steve’s mind. 

 “Wanda.”

 Wanda gave him another pressed lip smile. “Are you enjoying the party?”

 “We just got here,” Bucky answered for Steve. That was customary. What Wanda was doing, addressing Steve so directly, was not. Steve looked to Strange for explanation, but as soon as he saw Strange’s face his stomach twisted. Something… something happened, with Strange. Steve was supposed to hate him now, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why. It was something… bad? Something… sexual, some sort of perversion Steve had become aware of recently, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember why. Maybe he had a dream? Or maybe… while he was high, did he see Strange do something bad? 

 “You need to get some of the Kenkilaba,” Strange said, his accent much worse than Okoye’s in pronouncing the name. “It’s a traditional African drink, but Nakia makes it with alcohol. It’s like… hon, what’s that drink? We’d drink it around Christmastime.”

 “Eggnog,” Wanda supplied for him. She looked to Bucky, explaining “Its a beverage made of egg whites and—”

 “I know what eggnog is,” Bucky interrupted. 

 “Bucky’s also from Earth,” Strange explained to his… partner? They weren’t overly affectionate, but there was definitely something domestic about their situation. “I actually met Wanda on Earth. She’s from Sokovia.” 

 Steve waited for Wanda to try to kiss Bucky’s cheeks or some other customary thing. She didn’t, just kept smiling pleasantly. Bucky was still too surprised to do anything, which lead to him staring a little awkwardly. 

 Finally, Steve couldn’t handle it anymore. He cleared his throat, and when Bucky looked at him he looked pointedly at the leash he was still wearing. Bucky unclipped it, patting Steve’s hair awkwardly, and Steve rolled his eyes but settled back, a little more comfortable. 

 Eventually Strange and Wanda turned away from Bucky and started their own conversation. Steve made himself stop watching Strange; he still couldn’t figure out why he hated him, but he was pretty sure he did. 

 Sam came over a little later, Peter in tow acting all ditsy and happy, like all he wanted from this life was to wear stupid, poorly color-coordinated clothes and hang off the arms of a man wearing rainbow-tinted highlighter. 

 Sam sat down noisily in the empty seat to Steve’s side, and Peter immediately collapsed onto his right knee, giggling stupidly. “ _ Bucky, _ ” Sam said seriously, thought he was grinning like an idiot. “Have you tried the— the— the tea shit? The kena-kaba-whatever-the-fuck-a—”

 “Kenkilaba,” Peter corrected, still smiling stupidly. 

 Sam gave him an interested look. “Look at you, when’d you get so smart?”

 Peter giggled against his shoulder. “I didn’t. I’m still stupid, I just know how to pronounce words.”

 “Ya brat,” Sam complained, but looked back to Bucky. “But yeah. That drink, you need to try it. Lil Peter here is already tipsy, and he only had one glass. What a lightweight, ammi right?”

 “‘M not drunk,” Peter complained against Sam’s shoulder. Sam patted his rump placatingly, like  _ alright, whatever you say.  _

 “Um. Yes,” Bucky said hesitantly. “Stevie, go get us some… what’s it called?”

 “Kenkilaba,” Peter muttered. 

 “ _ Kenkilaba,”  _ Bucky repeated, nailing the accent in one go. “Go ahead. One mug.”

 Steve got up stiffly, going to do as he was told. He gave Peter an interested look as he passed, trying to figure out how drunk he actually was. They had a big planning session today; it wouldn’t do to have Peter inebriated. Peter met his eyes as he passed, tracking him without problem. Alright; not drunk then. 

 It took a minute to find the drink, mostly because it was being served out of a large ceramic bowl, not a pitcher or jug. Steve gave it a sniff as he served up one mug. It had a strong and herbal scent, resembling black tea, but also with traces of honey and rum. He tried a sip, immediately turning his nose up at it, but he adjusted to it quickly. The aftertaste left one wanting more, so Steve took another tiny sip before making his way back to the couches. 

 Steve was too short to see over  _ anyone’s _ head, so when he saw what was happening he was already decently close to Bucky’s seat. Bucky’s seat that was suddenly made smaller, because it wasn’t just hosting Bucky. Peter sat backwards on Bucky’s lap, straddling his waist and grinding against him purposefully. Bucky’s hands were on his hips, probably leaving bruises because Bucky just always gripped that tight. Peter’s hands were on Bucky’s face, and he was kissing him hard. The grinding was one-sided, but the kissing wasn’t. 

 Steve had stopped in his tracks. Someone bumped into him, grumbling in annoyance about  _ clumsy slaves,  _ but Steve didn’t move. He saw twenty different possible realities flashing across his eyes— he stormed up and grabbed Peter, pulling him to the ground and breaking his nose; or, the quieter but equally dramatic option, he just dropped his mug right there, just let it slide out of his hands. The mug would shatter and rum-tea would splatter everywhere. It’d be loud, and Okoye would probably be annoyed at him for breaking her mug, but it’d cause a distraction. Bucky would pull away— he’d stop  _ fucking kissing Peter _ — and Steve would express his shock and horror in a less damaging way. 

 Steve almost did it, too. He got so, so close, but in the end he just tightened his grip on the mug and swallowed, continuing forwards. He sent his most judging look to the couple, but Bucky and Peter were still sucking face like champs, so they didn’t notice. Bucky must not have been completely unaware though, because as soon as Steve was within range he grabbed onto his collar without opening his eyes  _ or breaking the kiss,  _ and dragged him back down to kneeling. Steve knelt, glared a hole through Peter’s fucking skull, and finally,  _ finally,  _ Bucky pushed Peter away. They were both breathing hard, but Peter looked like he could keep going for a while. As soon as Bucky saw Peter’s face, he grunted and pushed Peter off his lap. Peter climbed off obediently, switching back to Sam’s lap. He curled around him protectively, resting his head on Sam’s shoulder and very carefully avoiding looking at Steve. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter:  
> \- Steve confronted the reality of Bucky assaulting him while he slept  
> \- buttplug drama  
> \- collar drama  
> \- Steve confronted the fact that it was incredibly easy to forgive Bucky and let him do whatever he wanted (which scared him)  
> \- Bucky ditched the mask  
> \- Okoye/The Dora Milage's house   
> \- Wanda / Strange  
> \- The Peter Drama 
> 
> For today's question, what could Peter's inspiration for his actions be? Feel free to literally consider everything, even if you don't think its accurate to his character. I think that'll help us to see things from Steve's perspective-- speaking of, why did Steve react so strongly? Wasnt he angry at Bucky?
> 
> Although, I will note, that's not the only thing going on in this chapter. I'm going to be honest, theres a conspiracy going on with Strange, and now is a great time to look back snd think of all of his actions and what his motives might be. Strange will be a relevant character ;)
> 
> In other news, the next chapter has more Big Important Dramatic Plot Stuff, and, oh yeah, I cried writing in. Full tears, and I already knew what was going to happen when I wrote it. So look forwards to that *teary eyed emoji *
> 
> Next chapter coming out soon!


	29. The Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time, on The SRGTDWI:
> 
>  
> 
> Steve was too short to see over anyone’s head, so when he saw what was happening he was already decently close to Bucky’s seat. Bucky’s seat that was suddenly made smaller, because it wasn’t just hosting Bucky. Peter sat backwards on Bucky’s lap, straddling his waist and grinding against him purposefully. Bucky’s hands were on his hips, probably leaving bruises because Bucky just always gripped that tight. Peter’s hands were on Bucky’s face, and he was kissing him hard. The grinding was one-sided, but the kissing wasn’t. 
> 
> Steve had stopped in his tracks. Someone bumped into him, grumbling in annoyance about clumsy slaves, but Steve didn’t move. He saw twenty different possible realities flashing across his eyes— he stormed up and grabbed Peter, pulling him to the ground and breaking his nose; or, the quieter but equally dramatic option, he just dropped his mug right there, just let it slide out of his hands. The mug would shatter and rum-tea would splatter everywhere. It’d be loud, and Okoye would probably be annoyed at him for breaking her mug, but it’d cause a distraction. Bucky would pull away— he’d stop fucking kissing Peter— and Steve would express his shock and horror in a less damaging way. 
> 
> Steve almost did it, too. He got so, so close, but in the end he just tightened his grip on the mug and swallowed, continuing forwards. He sent his most judging look to the couple, but Bucky and Peter were still sucking face like champs, so they didn’t notice. Bucky must not have been completely unaware though, because as soon as Steve was within range he grabbed onto his collar without opening his eyes or breaking the kiss, and dragged him back down to kneeling. Steve knelt, glared a hole through Peter’s fucking skull, and finally, finally, Bucky pushed Peter away. They were both breathing hard, but Peter looked like he could keep going for a while. As soon as Bucky saw Peter’s face, he grunted and pushed Peter off his lap. Peter climbed off obediently, switching back to Sam’s lap. He curled around him protectively, resting his head on Sam’s shoulder and very carefully avoiding looking at Steve.

 Steve turned his glare down to the still-intact mug of tea in his hands. “I got the kenkil— the kankal—”

 “Thank you,” Bucky said, not correcting Steve’s pronunciation. He patted his thigh and Steve clumsily climbed up, purposefully putting his back to Sam and Peter. He tried to relax, but he wasn’t like Peter, he couldn’t just drape himself over whoever he wanted. 

 Bucky took the mug and sipped it. He wrinkled his nose, but took a second sip soon enough. 

 Steve tried to be okay for a few minutes, but it felt like Sam was breathing down the back of his neck. “Master,” he whispered, “can I go with the other slaves now?”

 It was still pretty early in the night, earlier than Steve would normally leave, but Bucky must have seen the distress in his tone. He nodded, putting a hand on Steve’s back to help him get up. 

 Steve made a beeline to the stairs. He didn’t know where the office was, but Okoye was right, and it was easy enough to follow the noise. When he found the office, the only ones inside were Shuri and Pietro. Shuri was wearing a fancy outfit of blue embroidered cloth with various cut-outs exposing smooth brown skin, and a string of beading over her face that branched out at a Y over her nose and seemed, frankly, annoying. Pietro was wearing his normal clothes, which was to say, minimal effort. Steve wasn’t surprised— Loki was also an aspiring goth, who’s idea of dressing up was wearing a green cape. 

 Shuri and Pietro were sitting on the floor, surrounded in piles of scrap metal, and they both looked up when Steve stormed in. “Pietro,” Steve snapped, “If you punch me, I’ll punch you back. You in?”

 Pietro seemed to seriously consider the offer, but eventually he shook his head. “Nah. We’d get in trouble; now is not a good time to get out on punishment.”

 Steve hissed through his teeth. Before he could complain, Shuri added “I have a punching mat if you need to use it.” She gestured towards it, and Steve shrugged and took her up on it. The mat was pushed up against the wall, but took a surprising amount of force. Steve beat up on it for a few minutes until he felt better. He joined their little circle, sighing and settling back into his own skin. 

 Shuri gave him a cautious look. “Feel better?”

 “Yes,” Steve said, still a little snappy. He rolled his shoulder, trying to roll out the remaining tension. “What are we doing and how can I help.”

 It turned out that they were sifting through piles of scrap metal looking for specific parts for the shock-collar-disablers. Steve gladly joined them, eternally thankful for a straight-forwards task he could focus on. 

 After a while, Natasha joined them. She was completely silent and, judging from her eyes, high. Pietro showed her his pile of useful parts and she nodded, silently going to work. Eventually MJ and Peter joined them. Peter said nothing to Steve about what happened, but he did offer him an apologetic look, and Steve found himself immediately forgiving him. 

 Nebula didn’t show up. Neither did Gamora, but that wasn’t a surprise. Steve hadn’t seen her for weeks. Natasha had said something about the flu, and drug withdrawal? Wherever Gamora was, it was likely that she wasn’t having a better time than they were. 

 “I have three and a half disablers finished,” Shuri said, working on a small device so rapidly that her hands practically blurred. Everyone kept rummaging through the scraps, listening intently. This was their  _ freedom _ , and the mood had never been so serious. Steve knew for a fact that downstairs there was easily accessible, tasty alcohol, and yet everyone was sober. Peter was definitely sober— the tipsy act earlier had, truly, been just an act— and even Pietro was sober. Nothing encouraged sobriety quite as much as the carrot-on-a-stick that was freedom. 

 “Three and a half disablers finished,” Shuri repeated, “and four and a half to go. They take about a month each. That means it will be approximately five months until we can even think about escape. When we do escape, we will each attach the disablers to our collars. The collars have location features that will set off debilitating shocks if we go far enough away from our masters. I’ve tested it; it’s about a quarter mile. We need to disable the collars to escape, that’s non-negotiable. We will chose a day to escape where we’re at the Banquet Hall. Pietro, you’ve looked into the security measures?”

 “I have,” Pietro agreed. All of the attention in the room shifted to him seamlessly. If it was possible, they all started working faster, disassembling and sorting. “The way I see it, there are three main security measures that keep us trapped there. One, the collars, two, the citezen soldiers, and three, the guards at the exits.” 

 “Gamora and Nebula, as our main fighters, will take care of the guards,” Shuri said, taking over again. She was a pretty light-hearted person, from what Steve had seen, but now she was scarily intense. “That means we still have to take care of the citezen soldiers.”

 Pietro nodded, looking back down to the half-melted toaster he was disassembling. “Right. To my knowledge, there are only two who are consistently at the parties: Valkyrie and Barnes.” 

 “Valkyrie can be distracted,” Natasha said, contributing to the conversation for the first time. It was when she spoke that Steve realized just how sick she was: her voice was lower than normal, her eyebags seemed more engorged, and she sounded bland and suppressed. Steve got another pang of memory, like there should be something he remembered, but he didn’t know what. “She is susceptible to drinking games. She is still pretty aware even if she’s pissed, but maybe I could drug her wine…?”

 “That could work,” Shuri agreed. “We’d have to get a strong enough drug, but it’s a possibility. Steve, how easily distracted is Bucky?”

 Peter cleared his throat awkwardly. Steve made himself look at Shuri, not acknowledging Peter. “Not easily. He’s… creepy like that. He also doesn’t drink or do drugs, and he usually doesn’t talk to many people either. He’d know if something was up.”

 “Do you have any ideas for how to distract him?” 

 “One that doesn’t involve me literally right in front of him?” Steve clarified. “I have no idea. But… but I’ll think about it. I’ll find something.”

 “See if you can figure it out tonight,” Shuri encouraged. “But if not, we’ll survive. Five months, that’s the goal.” 

 She breathed in deeply, and MJ took over for her. “The current escape plan is to go to a portal to earth Peter and I know about. It’s relatively close to the Banquet Hall, we’ll have to run through a small wooded area, but that’ll provide tree cover. The portal isn’t well-known, but Sam used it when taking Peter and I to Earth once. We can find it again.”

 “We’ll have to,” Shuri agreed. “And Peter—”

 “I’ll take care of the safe house,” Peter said, offering her a tired smile. “I’ve got it covered. I’m more worried about the other details. It seems too easy. No slaves ever escape—”

 “No other slaves have these,” Shuri interrupted, holding up what could only be one of the shock-collar-disablers. “We just have to go as fast as we can. Five months, that’s all we need—”

 “I don’t have five months.”

 Everyone whirled around to greet the new voice. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that she’d sneaked up on them; Gamora had always been a quiet precense. Right now, she was leaning against the doorframe, her expression carefully guarded, emotions shuttered behind lock and key. And— and apparently she had a reason to be guarded, because, because… God, how had Steve been so stupid? He should have read in between the lines, he should have  _ questioned  _ her absence more. 

 Across the circle from him, Natasha was wearing a simple white tunic, like that of a handmaid. But Gamora… Gamora was wearing a flowing white gown. The iridescent fabric contrasted nicely against her pale green skin, and her hair was down in soft curls, a decadent flower crown placed atop her head. Her arms were crossed over her stomach. Her… distended stomach. She’d gained weight, but not  _ weight _ weight, she’d gain weight like… like she’d been eating more than normal. Like she’d been eating for two. 

 Like she was pregnant. 

 Everyone was silent. Pregnancy meant birth, the beginning of a new life, yet… this news didn’t feel like that. It felt like death. Not just death… a death  _ sentence _ . 

 And Gamora just kept a plain, straight face, carefully sheltered. 

 “I’m twenty weeks along,” she said, answering the question everyone was thinking. Well…  _ one of  _ the questions. “Naturally, I’d give birth at about 40 weeks. But I have a C-section scheduled for 16 weeks from now. It’s custom here to have the fetus finish the last month of development in an artificial womb. It’s… easier to monitor, something like that. And…” Gamora bit her lip, apparently liking the next bit of information even less. “And we’ll probably move before then. I’m guessing at least a month before, maybe less if we’re lucky. Children aren’t allowed in this community.”

 The room was completely silent. Peter was the first one to break the silence, standing and announcing “Oh my  _ God _ . Gam’, I’m so happy for you! You’re going to be a mom, you’re going to be the best mom ever!” He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly, every word he said filled with utter genuineness, and just like that, Gamora’s cool collection broke. That was the only word to describe it: her expression literally  _ broke,  _ her face splitting into pieces as her lips turned down and her eyes squeezed shut and she  _ sobbed,  _ grabbing onto Peter like she was dying, right there. He grabbed onto her right back, and they barely managed to hold each other up as they both sobbed, Peter in joy and Gamora in horror. She raised her hand to her mouth to try and hide it, but there was no hiding it. Her entire body shook, and she seemed absolutely mortified, but she couldn’t stop it. 

 They all watched as she broke. 

 And that was when Steve started counting backwards. Because something definitely did not line up. 

 For as long as Steve had known Gamora, she did not have sex or any sort of contact like that with Peter, Pietro, or anyone else. She was still in mourning for Quill. There was one fact that they all knew, but didn’t talk about, which was that she had sex with Valkyrie, but Valkyrie was a  _ woman.  _ Valkyrie was a woman, and she had two slaves, both female. 

 If Gamora was 20 weeks pregnant, then she became pregnant 4 to 5 months ago. But Quill died over a year ago, which meant…

 Who was the father?

 Pietro asked that very question at almost the exact moment Steve thought of it, and instantly another wave of sobs shook trough Gamora’s body. She started shaking her head and just kept shaking it, not stopping. Peter gently guided her head to his shoulder and she clung onto the fabric of her shirt with trembling, angry fists, full of despair with nowhere to put it. 

 Natasha kicked Pietro for his lack of tact, and he mouthed a question to her, probably  _ well who is it?  _ Natasha bared her teeth in response, like she was saying  _ ask one more time and see what I do to you.  _

__ Shuri, however, was focused on a completely different issue. “Wait, if you move two months before the birth… that means we only have two months!” 

 All of the color— not that there was much to begin with— drained from Pietro’s face. “Can you make all the disablers in time?”

 “I— what? No! There’s no way in Hell! It’s just not possible, I will only be able to get two, maybe three done!” 

 “That leaves two people stuck here!” Pietro said, his voice getting louder. He seemed…  _ angry _ . “Shuri, that means we would have to leave—”

 “I know!” Shuri screamed right back. They were both standing now, getting in each other’s faces. “I know! I know I know I know—”

 “Do you know what will happen to them?” Pietro snarled. “Lets just say, theoretically, your fucking hair-brained plan actually works and the first group escapes. Then, everyone who knows about the plan will be interrogated. The portal the first group escaped through will be blocked off forever. Probably all of the other portals will too! And then they will still have the collars and no way to get them off, and their masters will increase security five-thousand percent, and—”

 “I know!” Shuri screamed. “Stop fucking yelling, you idiot white boy! Just shut up, I need to think!”

 “No, what you need to do is build!” Pietro crouched down, scooping up the trash in his arms, pushing it at Shuri messily. She couldn’t get a hold on all of the things, and some fell to the ground, bouncing and denting. “Build! Build, you said that’s what you’re good at, I’m not staying here another year! Build five more fucking disablers, we need five, not three, you hear me? Five! Five five five five!”

 “I can’t! I physically can’t, it’s not possible, I won’t have access to the parts I need! I can only make two,  _ maybe  _ three!”

 Pietro dug his fingers into his hair, tugging at it painfully. He started pacing. Steve had never seen him look so panicked. “We’re fucked. We’re  _ so fucked.” _

__ Steve looked across the circle. Out of the people in the room, the only ones still sitting were Steve, MJ, and Natasha. MJ looked like she had gone completely numb, like a person in a coma, unresponsive. 

 Natasha met Steve’s eyes. She was still there. Even after everything that had happened, she was still there. She was a survivor, a fighter. She wouldn’t succumb to numbness. 

 Steve realized, with a pang of horror, what would have to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, everything got fucked. 
> 
> Comments are always appreciated :) I love the discussion.


	30. The Bet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, more content! 
> 
> Recently, on the SRGTDWI:  
> \-- A plan was formed for the 8 slaves to escape using devices created by Shuri  
> \-- BUT, it turned out Gamora was pregnant, so they had a limited window for when they could leave and the devices would take too long  
> \-- SO it was decided that, at the very most, they could take 6 people, leaving 2 behind
> 
>  
> 
> ALSO, we cant forget some drama that happened two chapters ago: Steve came back to find Peter on Bucky's lap, kissing him. You guys commented your theories, everything from Peter trying to show Steve something, to Peter trying to pickpocket Bucky (love that), but NO ONE got it right! I think that was partially my fault for the way I worded it in the end notes, but I digress. 
> 
> And, one last quick note: This chapter has three different scenes in it, all with difference information relevant to the plot. So, if you want to comment (please do!) I'd recommend writing on a separate doc/notes app your thoughts before continuing reading to the next part. Just an idea :) 
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

They sat in a circle to determine who they'd have to leave behind. 

 Gamora had already left. Apparently, after Valkyrie found a way to get Gamora pregnant, she'd started becoming incredibly protective over her. It didn't matter anyways, Gamora was leaving in the first group, no question about it. They referring to it as the first and second group because the understanding was that the people who were left behind would keep looking for another way out, and would hopefully join the first group. It was a little idealistic-- they didn't even know if the first group could succeed-- but they had to plan for the best case scenario before preparing for the worst. 

 There would be the chance for six out of eight of them to escape. The eight of them included Gamora and Nebula, who weren't currently part of the discussion, as well as Pietro, Peter, MJ, Shuri, Natasha, and Steve. 

 “So this is when we decide,” Peter said blankly. As soon as Gamora had left, he'd slumped, like all of his energy was gone. “This is when we decide who stays and who goes.” 

 “It'll be a temporary decision,” Natasha said in a weak attempt to comfort him. “Things could change.”

 “Things aren't going to change,” Pietro grumbled. “And if they do, they’ll only get worse. They only ever get worse.” 

 “Pessimistic much?” MJ complained. In the last few minutes, she'd seemed to wake up a little, though she still appeared to be in some sort of shock. “Come on guys, let's think this over. We have to be logical. First of all, who has to go, no question?”

 They were all quiet. Steve knew everyone was thinking  _ me, I need to go, I can’t stay here.  _ But that's not what she was asking. One way or another, at least two people would stay. 

 “Gamora is going,” Natasha said flatly. “That's five spots left.”

 “And Shuri needs to go,” Peter added. “They'll know it’s her who made the collars. And besides, it was her plan, her invention. She’s earned her ticket.” 

 No one argued. Shuri looked like she wanted to, but she stayed quiet. 

 “Alright,” Pietro said. “That's four spots left. And Nebula is a part of this decision too.” 

 “I guess what we need to do now is see who would be the worst off if they stay,” Shuri recommended. She was still fidgeting with some scraps, and she looked a little more calm now that her passageway was secured, but she still seemed stressed. She was probably feeling guilty-- she was supposed to save everyone, and now that wasn’t an option. 

 “I'll start,” Steve announced. “If Pietro was suspected of helping the first group escape, he'd probably be beaten to death.” 

 Pietro shot him a look, but didn't object. “Pro, Loki cares very little about me. Con, that might translate to him killing me.” 

 “Cute,” MJ muttered. “I don’t think Sam would kill any of us, but if one of us stayed while the others went we'd look like accomplices.” 

 Shuri tapped a finger on her chin. “Maybe. But Sam also has favorites. Peter could probably convince him to forgive him.” 

 Peter looked up, looking ghostly. “What?” 

 “I’m not saying you should stay,” Shuri added quickly. “I'm just saying he'd probably forgive you.” 

 MJ's voice took on a darker tone. “But do you know who he wouldn’t forgive? Nebula. He keeps her for the sex, but he rarely has sex with her anymore. He doesn't care about her much. She can't stay with him.” 

 “But is that enough to give her a free pass?” Natasha argued. 

 MJ shrugged. “Gamora will also need emotional support. They're like sisters-- it would be bad to separate them.” 

 “It would be bad to separate any of us,” Natasha snapped. “And Gamora already got a free pass. It's not fair to give out all of our passes to her.”

 “Oh yeah? Then who do you think should go?” 

 Natasha opened her mouth, then closed it. 

 “Wait,” Shuri said. “Who's been here the longest?” 

 Immediately, everyone looked to Peter and Pietro. They seemed to have a silent conversation before Pietro announced “Me.” 

 “I say Pietro should get to go,” Steve piped up. His throat felt dry, but his voice was loud, clear. “And Nebula. They’d get the worst treatment if they were to stay.”

 Pietro exhaled, leaning back. He looked sick, but relieved. Steve wondered what he could be if he had the chance to get away from this place, what he’d do when he didn’t have to think about his next beating or his next fix. Pietro, blunt and aggressive, but sober and clear-headed. He deserved the chance to see that potential. 

 Another person who deserved that chance— Peter. Peter’s been taken young. He’d never had a chance to be independent, to grow into adulthood with ease. It’d been thrust upon him. 

 Steve let his eyes wander over to MJ. She’d been here at least a few years, and she looked to be about to same age as Peter. Had she had a chance to grow into her adulthood? Or had she too been taken too young, turned into a sexual creature within the span of a week?

 Steve met Natasha’s gaze. The answer was obvious. It was also incredibly painful. 

 “Let’s finish this conversation later,” Natasha decided. “Give us all time to think.”

 Time to think was a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because Steve could keep up his fantasy of escape a little longer, but a curse because it meant he had to  _ think.  _

 “Fine,” He said, getting to his feet. He was in desperate need of physical comfort, and he knew he wouldn’t be getting it from any of the others today. “Let’s talk later. Shuri, let us know if there’s anything we can do to help.”

  
  


—————————

  
  


 Steve went downstairs, finding Bucky easily. Bucky was still sitting in the armchair, leaning against the back in a picture of faux-comfort. His eyes locked on Steve instantly. The question from before pinballed around Steve’s mind: how would he go about distracting Bucky? Now, the answer was becoming more and more obvious.

 Steve climbed onto Bucky’s lap, and immediately Bucky’s world became that much smaller. Steve smiled at him a little sadly. 

 “Something wrong, doll?” Bucky muttered against his hair.

 Steve shook his head slightly. “No. We just… there was a lot of drama today. Emotions. Ick.”

 “Ick,” Bucky agreed. “About Peter?”

 Steve pulled away, trying to decode Bucky’s expression. It was a lot easier without the mask for him to hide behind. 

 Steve did his best not to snarl. “Don’t talk about him. Don’t even say his name.”

 Bucky’s cheeks flushed red. “You gonna do something to make me forget?”

 Steve shrugged, and because life was short, leaned in to kiss Bucky. Fine— he’d make him forget. Steve would make both of them forget. He may not have any more pink pills, but the human mind was a magical place. If Steve wanted them to forget, he’d make it happen. 

  
  


———————

**Peter**

 It was so late that it was early. Sam had made them stay until the party neared completion, and only then did he allow them to leave. Peter felt exhausted, kept awake only by the alcohol Sam kept offering him. He wasn’t drunk, but he feigned like he was, knowing Sam found his inebriation cute. Fine— Peter could be cute. He’d be so damn cute, that no one would ever, ever see inside his mind again. He’d be what Sam wanted. 

 Everyone had a way of coping. Pietro drank, Gamora chewed on her nails, MJ picked at her skin. Peter, for his method of coping, hid. They can’t hurt you if they can’t find you, and Peter had did his best to make sure no one found him. He buried his old self and threw away the hatchet— he didn’t need that boy anymore. No one did. 

 Sometimes, people drew it back out, but that only made the hurt worse. MJ was especially good at it. She spoke, and it was like all of the broken pieces fit together, Peter then and Peter now, and they merged to form something MJ called beautiful.  _ You’re so good,  _ she’d told him once.  _ You just are, Peter. So good.  _

__ It wasn’t a sex thing, wasn’t a degradation thing. That was usually the context when Peter was being called good. That time it’d been different. It had been a compliment, not on a comment on how goddamn needy or lusty or pretty he’d made himself.  _ That’s it, that’s a good boy. You were made for this, weren’t you?  _

__ No, it wasn’t like that.  _ You’re so good. You just are. _

__ After they got back to the mansion, Sam grabbed a handful of them and marched them up to his room. It was Peter, MJ, and two of the other slaves, the ones who didn’t go to parties and didn’t speak unless spoken to. They weren’t invited along for the big escape; that’s what they got for hiding. But their lives weren’t bad, and there would always be someone who Peter couldn’t save. 

 Peter thought of Steve and got a sick taste in his mouth. 

 Sam made the sex go on long and drawn out. Peter was ready to drop by the end, so miserable it was getting hard to hide it. Finally, they finished, all collapsing into one collective heap. Sam’s bed was ginormous, made for this type of activity. They all had their own rooms, but usually Sam liked them to sleep the night with him post-coitus. He wasn’t a big cuddler, but it was good for his sense of pride. Peter had seen what he looked like, waking up in the morning and letting his eyes side over the nude bodies, the bodies he could command and control as he pleased. His smile ticked up, and Peter felt his own lungs hitch and squeeze. 

 Tomorrow morning would be no different. Peter was expected to stay the night, but he’d been drinking everything Sam gave him so it was excusable when he climbed off of the bed and dipped into the bathroom. He only had a few minutes— Sam’s patience wasn’t infinite— but at least it’d be a few minutes of privacy. 

 Peter cleaned himself with shaking hands. He brushed his teeth, avoiding eye contact with the mirror for as long as possible, but after he’d rinsed and spit he caught his own eyes staring back at him, and was stuck. He stood, straightening stiffly. The boy stared back at him. He’d cleaned himself, but so much filth remained. There was a layer of grime over his skin that wasn’t possible to wipe off. Eventually, it’d become so thick that it would cover his eyes, close his mouth, seal his ears. He’d become one with the ground. They wouldn’t need to bury him; he’d bury himself. 

 A dark spot caught his attention, and Peter turned to see it. It was a shade over his hip; a bruise, except that wasn’t right, because Sam never grabbed that hard. The only who did was— was—

 A wave of fresh shame washed over him. Was there no rest, no escape? Was there no break, no reprieve, no—

_ “You seem stressed.” Sam’s voice, sweet like honey and thick with multiple meanings. _

_  Bucky’s voice, Steve’s master: “Um. I am. I. The mask—” _

_  “It’s good you got rid of it.” Sam’s voice again. Peter heard it in double time— once, with his ears, and once with his body, pressed so close to Sam’s chest that he could feel it reverberate. “I’m proud of you, man. It’s a big step.” _

_  “It.” Bucky cleared his throat. “Yeah.” _

_  “Look, we can’t do anything about Hydra. What they did to you— I’m sorry. But we can at least help with your stress. Isn’t that right Peter?”  _

_  That was Peter’s cue. He nuzzled up against Sam’s shoulder like a lost puppy. “You want me to?” Peter knew what Sam wanted, and knew equally well how much he didn’t want it. He hoped Bucky would say something to object, but he’d been extra quiet today. He was hesitant, but he wasn’t going to refuse it.  _

_  Sam patted his hip, and Peter climbed off. He didn’t know exactly what Sam wanted him to do, but Bucky usually didn’t let him use his mouth. He was… what did Sam call it? Sexually repressed? Sam wasn’t exactly a viable source of that information, though, since he was practically a nymphomaniac— everyone was sexually repressed in comparison to him.  _

_  Bucky had let Peter suck his cock before. It had been awkward and Peter would be happy to avoid a repeat experience. So Peter did one of the other things he excelled at; he played cute.  _

_  He climbed into Bucky’s lap, ground against him, kissed him. Bucky responded. It was fine, it was almost good enough that Peter could let his mind wander. He had a daydream going that he’d been reverting back to a lot lately, where he got a dog and taught it tricks and they went on hikes— _

_  Bucky pushed him away, and Peter realized why too late. Steve was kneeling at Bucky’s side, practically glaring daggers. Peter dipped his head, whispering to Bucky to ask how he liked it, if he felt better, and Bucky wordlessly pushed him off. Fine, Peter would leave. He hated this game anyways.  _

_  Steve wouldn’t look at him. Peter swallowed, and tried to return the favor. A shameful thing had gone down, and Peter deserved all the ostracizing in the world.  _

__ Peter stared at the bruising. At the time, he’d hardly noticed how tight Bucky’s grasp had been, but it shouldn’t surprise him now. He’d seen the bruises on Steve’s wrists, his neck, his hips. And now he shared it, like a matching tattoo no one’d consented to. 

 Not for the first time, Peter looked to the shower curtain. It was held up by a bar that was set into the wall. After Quill, Sam had replaced all the shower curtains with flimsy little things that’d snap if any weight was put into them, but… well… Peter had belts. And, if Sam had fallen asleep, he had time. It wouldn’t take long. It wouldn’t—

 The door opened, and Peter jerked to look behind him, though his feet stayed planted. It was MJ. 

 “Sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was in here.” 

 Despite her apology, MJ didn’t move. Peter didn’t move either. Both of them were naked— it came with the territory— and MJ crossed her arms in a meager attempt to protect herself from the chill that always lingered in this bathroom. 

 “Oh,” Peter said, not sure what else to say. MJ didn’t move. She’d seen him, she’d seen him, she knew what he was thinking because MJ was just like that, and she’d  _ seen _ him—

 “Peter,” she said softly. “Go back to bed.”

 Peter swallowed and nodded, just once. He walked back to the room and MJ followed like a sentry. When he climbed into bed, she climbed in beside him, curling up behind him. She kissed his head and he kissed her hand, and together they drifted. 

 MJ didn’t go back to the bathroom, and neither did Peter. 

  
  


—————————

  
  


**Steve**

 “He’ll kill me,” Steve stated simply. “He’ll jump on me and maul my face off.”

 “He won’t,” Bucky insisted. 

 Steve turned to face him, looking at him incredulously. “He has it out for me,” he insisted. “Have you seen him? Whenever he gets close, he starts sniffing like crazy. Do you know why? It’s because he can smell fear, because he’s a demon, and whenever I get close he tries to attack—”

 Bucky rolled his eyes. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this discussion. “He’s not trying to attack, just to play. And he’s a puppy, they sniff things. Especially things as funny looking as you.”

 Steve slapped him on the leg, and Bucky responded by putting him in a headlock, yanking him close. Steve tried to shove him off, but Bucky didn’t pull away until he'd given Steve a big wet kiss. Then he released his arm and Steve scrambled back, wiping his mouth. 

 “Fine,” Bucky decided. “Then lets make a bet.”

 Steve looked at him incredulously. “A bet?”

 “A bet. I think that if you stand in the middle of the backyard and don’t run away when Fenris comes to greet you, then you’ll see that he’s just playful and doesn’t want to hurt you.”

 “I’ll die. I’ll die and he’ll eat my body—”

 “If he gets too rough, I’ll get him off you,” Bucky insisted. “And that means that you’d win the bet. You’d prove me wrong, prove  _ yourself _ right, and get a reward.” He wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist, rocking them slowly. “Come on, baby. What do you want?”

_ I want you to take my collar off,  _ Steve thought, but knew that wouldn’t work. There was still two months until the escape, and Bucky would never leave his collar off for more than a few hours. Besides, it wasn’t like he could go to a party without his collar anyways. 

 “I want you to take me back to earth,” Steve decided. “Like we did a few months ago, and we got books and coffee.”

 Bucky hissed by his ear. “Doll, that’s  _ expensive. _ ”

 “Yeah, but that’s only if I win. What do you want if you win?”

 Steve knew it was a mistake as soon as he said it. Bucky hummed, his chest vibrating against him, and his metal hand snaked up Steve’s shirt to pinch one of his nipples. “I want you,” Bucky growled, “to pierce these. Bars, not hoops. I chose the metal.”

 “Deal,” Steve said. It didn’t matter what Bucky wanted, Steve knew Fenris. Fenris would eat him for lunch. Steve just had to survive long enough to get his reward. “I win if he bites me.”

 “What if it’s a love bite?”

 Steve looked at him incredulously.  _ “I win if he bites me.” _

__ Bucky huffed. “Fine. I win if he’s just playful.” 

 They walked out to the yard, keeping their eyes out for the hell-dog. So far, Steve didn’t see him, and he wasn’t a big fan of the anticipation. 

 They got to a clear space and Bucky stopped, prodding Steve forwards. Steve marched onwards like he was preparing for his own execution, which... wasn't entirely inaccurate. Steve was literally betting on the fact that Fenris would bite him. 

 Welp. He had to die sometime. Steve would just try to protect his face.

 Steve went out into the clearing, spreading his arms and waiting. He held perfectly still for a few moments, but Fenris didn’t appear. 

 “Call him,” Bucky suggested at the same time as Steve bellowed “Ohhhhh  _ Sat-an!” _

 Immediately the beast appeared from behind a tree, black eyes glowing maliciously. He must have been able to smell fresh meat, because he started bounding forwards at once, huge hind legs propelling him forwards. Steve wondered if all apex predators ran the same way, and suddenly felt vaguely self conscious about only having two legs. Humans probably weren’t meant to last as long as they did; one of these days, the real beasts would rise up, the dogs, the panthers, and would destroy civilization in one brutal stroke. Most humans thought that that couldn’t happen, thought that humans were superior. Then again, the dinosaurs probably felt pretty damn powerful. Until they weren’t. 

 Every muscle in his body tensed as Fenris got closer, and worse, got  _ faster.  _ He showed no sign of slowing, all twenty-hundred pounds of him barreling forwards, a train running off the track, a car without brakes. Steve was the pedestrian in the middle of the road, caught with his groceries spilled over the crosswalk and his pants down. 

 At the last second, Fenris lunged and Steve jumped to the side, barely missing getting tackled by the blur of black muscle. He stumbled, started to run, and then, too fast, the beast hit him and Steve went down. He’d… expected it, on some level, but he hadn’t expected the way his lungs collapsed inwards, the way his solar plexus spasmed. He hit the ground hard, forearms first, and his first thought was  _ shit shit shit shit.  _ He wasn’t an expert on fighting, but he knew you were  _ never  _ supposed to let yourself get pinned on your stomach. It was almost impossible to get out from there. But being pinned on his stomach would protect his organs from stampeding hooves so maybe that was better? Steve tried to look behind him to judge where the creature was when a paw hit his back with altogether too much force and he slammed back down, getting a facefull of grass. 

 The dog barked and it was the loudest thing Steve had ever heard. The hooves kept moving—  _ paws,  _ Steve reminded himself, even though they were too big to be paws, they were fucking  _ hooves _ — stomping down and crushing craters into the ground next to Steve’s face. He stepped on Steve’s thigh, altogether too close to his ass, and finally, the panic set in. Steve screamed, shoving his elbows back only to be met with unmoving flesh. The footsteps pounded by his ears. One foot clipped his ear, making him jolt away, clutching his ear like it’d just been torn off. Maybe it had. Maybe it had. 

 God, Steve was stupid. He thought it’d be fine, thought he could take on the dog for the sake of the mission, but he  _ couldn’t.  _ It was too big, bigger than him in both size and weight. Fenris Wolf would crush his head like a cantaloupe, he’d tear his limbs off like he was a chew toy, he’d pull his insides out like a disemboweled stuffed animal. Steve had seen little dogs chew up shoes and couches, he knew the damage they could do, and that was without be sized like a bear. 

 Steve struggled underneath the beast, trying to push it back with his elbows, his back, but when he got onto his hands and knees the beast just slammed him back down. Steve covered his head with his arms when the beast started snuffing at him, but that didn’t prevent it from licking the back of his neck, slickening it with warm, wet slobber. Steve kicked out, hitting one of its legs, but that just made it move, stepping on him instead of the ground. “Fuck! Fu—” 

 There was a noise, the bark of an order, and Steve jolted as Fenris ran over him, nearly trampling him to the ground. 

 “Okay baby. Who’s a good boy, you are! Who’s my sweet boy, my good little puppy, you are, yes you are! Go fetch!” 

 Steve curled closer around himself, still trying to protect his head and organs even though the threat was gone. The threat was gone for  _ now,  _ he corrected. The threat would come back. 

 “Oh, baby. Look at you.”

 Steve’s entire body was trembling when Bucky scooped him up. He supported Steve’s back with one arm and his thighs with the other. Meanwhile, Steve curled as tightly as he could into him, hiding his face in Bucky’s shirt just in case the beast returned. 

 Bucky’s response was just a sigh. “Oh, baby. Stop trembling. I told you, he’s just a baby. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.” 

 They started walking, and Steve struggled to find any sort of direction before realizing they were walking towards the house. They couldn’t get there fast enough.

 “Besides,” Bucky said slowly. “...He didn’t bite you. You know what that means, don’t you?”

 It was rhetorical. That was good, because Steve didn’t think he’d be able to respond. 

 Bucky gently pushed him against the side of the house, using that to support his still-trembling form so Bucky could pinch his nipple through his shirt. “Bucky!” Steve squeaked, ducking his head to try and hide how his face was turning bright red. Then his ears picked up on a noise and he pushed himself as close to Bucky as possible. “You won, you won. Please bring me inside.” The running was getting closer, the panting, the sound of the monster that Steve was now intimately acquainted with. “Master—!”

 Bucky shushed him, gently moving them into the house. Steve didn’t relax his grip until the door was closed, the threat gone for now. Except, except… it was still there. It lingered. The dog would always be outside, would always be there, ready, waiting. And the next time Steve would leave…

 “I’ve got you,” Bucky whispered. He gave Steve a few kisses, on his head, his face, like an animal taking its first few licks of dinner. Steve, for his part, went limp, letting it happen. “I’ve got you, baby. Let’s go to the couch, alright?”

  
  


—————————

  
  


 They cuddled on the couch for the rest of the afternoon, with Bucky going back and forth between watching tv and reading. Steve, for the most part, did nothing besides hide under the blanket and rub his hands up and down his arms. 

 “You cold, baby?” Bucky asked at one point, and when Steve didn’t respond, just chuckled and pulled him closer. He took liberties with Steve’s body, tugging on his collar, putting his hand down his pants to rub his thighs, touching wherever he wanted to, and Steve let him. Steve didn’t just let him, he careened into the touch l, he sighed and moaned and snuggled as close to Bucky as he could. 

 “I just wanna make you feel good,” Bucky promised. “Really, Stevie. I just wanna make you happy.” He rubbed his hand in circles on Steve's chest, moving a little higher until he brushed against Steve's nipples. Steve winced, an automatic reaction, and Bucky shushed him soothingly. He traced over where Steve's nipples were, getting them hard beneath his shirt-- the way they'd stay, once the bar was put in place. Steve still had to decide how he felt about that. They were just bars, just metal. And besides, Steve liked the attention Bucky gave him. He could make himself a little prettier for his master, right? 

 “So good for me,” Bucky whispered, half-heartedly grinding against him. “Tell you what. Next time we go into town, we'll get them pierced, and then when you're feeling better we'll go visit Earth for an afternoon. Okay baby?”

 Steve closed his eyes, nuzzling back against Bucky affectionately. “Thank you, master.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to jadenray64 for helping me come up with the bet! Additional thank you to everyone who's commented on this fic-- I have never gotten reader interaction like this, and it's absolutely amazing. So thank you :D 
> 
> In this fic:  
> \- the group gathered to discuss who would stay/go (final decision was that Pietro, Gamora, Nebula, and Shuri definitely get to leave, but two of the others (Peter, MJ, Steve and Natasha) will have to stay)  
> \- Peter's POV!!!! Too bad its sad :/  
> \- The Bet
> 
> Thank you for your patience! Next chapter should be coming out very soon!


	31. The Decision

 About a week later, Steve had managed to tone down his Fenris-related anxiety. He’d wanted nothing to do with the dog at first, but Bucky still made him go outside to do his chores, so there was no avoiding him. But luckily, Fenris had stayed clear of him during chores, and Steve was able to continue doing them without getting too sidetracked watching the beast. He was fine. He was.

 He and Bucky went into town to get Steve’s nipples pierced. It was the most painful modification Steve had endured to date, though the actual piercing only took a moment. Steve had a hard time holding still, so Bucky bound his hands behind his back and held him to his chest. When Steve started making noises, Bucky put the side of his hand in Steve’s mouth to bite down on. Steve was so focused on not drawing blood that the procedure was easier, after that.

 Steve wasn’t released immediately afterwards. Instead, he was kept in position, thighs straddling a bench and arms bound behind him, as Bucky held metals cups over his nipples. The cups had some sort of lights inside that were supposed to decrease the healing time drastically.

 “One month,” Okoye promised proudly. “And then you can play with them as much as you want. But until then, no touching.” She gave Bucky a sharp look at that. “Give him a soft undershirt to wear and apply ointment twice a day. You can also keep the nipples bandaged, if you’d prefer. But no touching! Not only will the piercings heal wrong, but they could get infected.”

 “Ma’am, yes ma’am,” Bucky said playfully. She gave him the universal I’m watching you sign and he laughed.

 The cups were cold on Steve’s bare chest.

 When Okoye eventually took them back, Bucky checked in with him. “How’re you doing? Do they hurt?”

 Steve whined a little. He found himself slumping against Bucky more, taking some of the pressure off his spine. He hid his face in his shoulder so he wouldn’t be tempted to look down.

 Bucky chuckled. “They’re really pretty. You’re so good for me. Love you so much.”

 

——————————

  
  


 “I know you’re not going to try to run,” Bucky muttered, zipping up his sweatshirt. He could’ve whispered, and Steve would have strained every muscle in his body to hear it; that was how in tune he was to Bucky’s voice. “But. I’m going to remind you what’ll happen anyways.”

 Steve was kneeling on the couch, wearing nothing but a lacy thong and black medical tape over his still-healing nipples. His thighs were spread, and he had three of Bucky’s fingers in his mouth. He was the picture of submission; he had to be, if he wanted Bucky to take him to Earth today.

 Bucky moved the wrong way, and accidentally pushing his fingers to the back of Steve’s throat, making him gag. Bucky pulled back, but not before giving Steve an appreciative look. Steve knew what he looked like, even though he couldn’t see himself; knew about his flared rib cage, taped nipples, lacy panties; knew about his piercings, the bar through his ear, the black circle earrings, the covered nipple piercings. He knew what he looked like, with the sharp hairstyle, and the thin collar around his neck. He knew about the tattoos on his back, wolves and flowers and Russian. The hair, the wolves, the tattooed bars stripping up and down his arms, it was all for one thing; to make him seem harsh. Bucky dressed him up like an action figure, made something angry and dangerous out of him, then put him in panties and had him take a submissive pose. Put his fingers in Steve’s mouth, asked him to hold them there. Bucky built him up for the sake of wrecking him oh so thoroughly.

 Bucky came back to himself quicker than Steve did, slowly pushing his fingers deeper in Steve’s mouth until he had Steve’s full attention back on him. Bucky arranged his face like he was indifferent to the display. “Going to Midgard is a privilege, not a right. You disobey, and we leave right away. You try anything, and I’ll press a button and the collar around your neck will send out enough shocks to mimic a seizure, and we’ll go home. But we won’t worry about that, because you’re going to be good, ain’t that right?”

 Steve nodded as well as he could, and Bucky removed his fingers, wiping them off on Steve’s hair. “Alright, get up. Let’s go.”

 Once they were both dressed in earthly clothes, they went outside and caught a truck to the portal, though it wouldn’t have been too long a distance to walk. Once there, Steve stayed silent and obedient as Bucky talked in Russian to the gatekeepers, Thor and Heimdall. Steve, unfortunately, was not about to understand what they said. He could, however, read the Russian on the poster across the room: If you are allowing your slave to travel alone, give them the exact amount of money to cross. NO change will be provided.

 Steve also read the sign below it: Traveling to Midgard costs 75 units per slave.

 75. Steve knew what that looked like, how many pink, how many bronze coins that would be. He knew.

 And with that, Steve stared straight ahead. He’d got what he came for, from this trip. Now he could just enjoy Bucky’s hands on him, Bucky spoiling him. All whole Steve filed away illegal information, right under his eyes.

  
  


—————————

  
  


 The next day, Natasha came over. Valkyrie dropped her off with a mildly offensive comment Steve pretended not to hear, and immediately Steve took her hand and lead her outside. Natasha gave Bucky a distrusting look before following.

 They went to the barn, and Steve showed her how to climb up into the hayloft, all the while keeping his eyes peeled for Fenris. Fenris didn’t appear, though one of the geese wandered into the barn and started squawking at them when they were halfway up. They threw rocks at it until it went away, apparently deciding to hunt elsewhere.

Once they were alone, Natasha turned to Steve. “It has to be us,” she said without prompting. “We already decided that Shuri, Gamora, Nebula and Pietro get to go. Shuri designed the devices; Gamora’s pregnant; and Nebula and Pietro would be too badly abused. But MJ and Peter would also be pretty badly abused, and we both know that whatever happened to them, Sam would be filming it and putting it online.”

 Steve shuddered. He hadn’t thought of that.

 “And,” Natasha continued, not giving him a chance to speak, “Peter and MJ have both been here for years. They deserve freedom more. We can wait.”

 “I don’t want to wait,” Steve mumbled. He’d intended for it to be too quiet to hear, but judging from the way Natasha shifted, she’d heard. It was selfish, Steve knew, but he had already waited too long. He spent days in isolation, with Bucky as his only company; he was constantly scared, either because of Fenris, or because of the way Bucky touched him sometimes, absently, like he forgot Steve was another living creature. Steve’s nipples ached from the fresh piercing; his neck was itchy from the last haircut; his shoulders felt heavy from the collar that was constantly there. And, if he had estimated time correct, his birthday was coming up. He didn’t want to wait.

 “I know,” Natasha said, treading lightly. “But would you rather go now and leave one of the others to suffer?”

 Steve squeezed his eyes shut. This was why Natasha was his friend. Beneath her layers of anger and aggression, she was righteous to the core. He should’ve known from the start she’d volunteer herself; she was never one to leave a debt unpaid. And to leave Peter or MJ here while they caravanted back to Earth? That wasn’t a debt she could ever pay back.

 “Fine,” Steve said, keeping his eyes closed. “We’ll stay. It’s the most logical decision.”

 “It is. And besides, if we stay, we’ll actually have a chance at getting out. I think some of the others are running out of steam. We still have the energy to fight.”

  
  


———————————

  
  


 And fight they did.

 Steve felt instantly refreshed after seeing Natasha. There was something about her presence that always made him feel strong. He wasn’t too small or too weak to take on giants; he was made to be the best person he could, and nothing would hold him back from his full potential. So when Steve said goodbye, he said goodbye with a straight back, a light smile. Natasha returned the smile, even as she was being manhandled by Valkyrie out the front door.

 During the next few days, Steve tried to find balance between having self respect and making Bucky happy. He made him tea and sat with him, but when Bucky tried to force him into a intrinsically submissive position, Steve resisted as subtly as possible. Instead, he’d shift into a different pose. If Bucky wanted to spoon him, Steve would roll over, so he could smile up at Bucky but keep their crotches separate.

 This didn’t always work, of course. One day, Bucky decided to go through Steve’s drawers and have him try on some of the armbinders and harnesses he hadn’t worn before. Steve had to deal with it, trying desperately to hold his head high as Bucky kept adding more to the ensemble, locking him down tighter and tighter. At one point, Bucky asked “Do you know where that buttplug I got you went?” Steve did his best to lie convincingly and not look at the closet, where he knew it was hiding in the back corner.

 “Dunno. It’s not in the drawers?”

 The next day, when they were walking around town he saw Peter. They didn’t get a chance to talk, but Steve stood straighter for him, like he was saluting a general. Soon. It won’t be long now. Peter smiled back, but it was a little forced. His face was painted brightly, and he and Sam looked to be on their way someplace, walking with purpose.

 It had been almost a month since the last time they’d gone to a party when Bucky decided it was time, and Steve nearly sagged in relief. He didn’t even mind the degrading clothes. If it had been a month since last seeing the others, that meant it was only one more month until the escape. Even if he wasn’t going, he was looking forward to it. The others deserved to get out.

 Steve had already ditched Bucky, and was walking toward the conference room when MJ turned a corner, walking the other way. She sped up when she saw him, until they were close enough that she could grab his arm and pull him aside. “Listen, it needs to be me and you who stay.”

 

 “Wha—”

 “Peter has to leave.” She made eye contact with Steve, the type of eye contact he’d be hard-pressed to break. “I’m worried that if we leave him here, he’ll off himself, and I can’t have another death on my conscience.”

 Steve’s mouth felt dry. “Another?”

 MJ gave him a sad look. “Quill was a friend to all of us, not just to Gamora. What happened to him was inexcusable; we have to avoid it happening again at all costs. So. I’ll stay.” She shrugged, even though it looked like it hurt.

 “Peters’s been making you worried, huh? You think he might try to hurt himself?”

 She shrugged again, half hearted. “Maybe.”

 “Then the best thing you can do is stay with him. Natasha and I talked, we’re staying. You and Peter are going. I was just about to tell every—”

 Steve was cut off when MJ wrapped her arms around him and hugged him. Tightly, and for a long time. It wasn’t the type of physical affection Steve was used to, but he decided he liked it. A lot, actually. So he wrapped his arms around her and hugged back.

  
  


——————————

 

 Steve and MJ parted ways after that. MJ had to go see if Gamora and Natasha had arrived yet, and Steve wanted to see if anyone was in the conference room. So he kept walking, and was surprised after a moment to hear Gamora’s voice.

 “You’re being cruel. Stop it.”

 The other voice wasn’t Valkyrie’s, or even another master’s; it was Pietro’s, deep and accented. “Am I? Or am I right. This is the best solution, don’t tell me I’m wrong.”

 “Don’t take another step—”

 “It’s the only way.”

 “Pietro—!”

 “I’m sorry.”

 Steve started running when he heard the scream. It sounded like Gamora, but his heart was beating so loudly in his ears he couldn’t be sure. He kept picturing Gamora as she was the last time he’d seen her, dressed in white, radiant, a hand on her pregnant belly. If Pietro was— if he—

 There was a loud crash, and more screaming. Steve rounded the corner just in time to see Gamora slam Pietro against the wall, a lead pipe to his throat. Neither of them looked at him as Gamora growled “If you so much as think about hurting my baby again, I will peel your skin off in chunks and feed it to you. Got it?”

 Pietro made a helpless, strangled noise, and Gamora stepped back, letting him drop to the ground. She kicked him once, just for good measure, and it was only then that Steve’s presence of mind returned and he went “What the hell?”

 Both turned to look at him, but only Pietro looked surprised. Gamora dropped the lead pipe. “I did what I had to.”

 Pietro was panting. He squeezed his eyes in pain when he tried to get off the floor, but it must have hurt too much, because he collapsed again. “I had no choice!” He yelled. “If it weren’t for the fucking baby, we’d all get to leave! It’s not even fully developed yet!” He looked at Steve, desperate. “If she keeps it, you all will abandon me here! That fetus took my ticket home!”

 Steve didn’t know who to deal with first. “Pietro,” he chastised, voice quiet. “Were you— did you—”

 “He wanted to make me miscarriage,” Gamora translated. She was a little out of breath, but for a pregnant woman who just kicked someone’s ass, she was only just barely out of breath. “He thought that if he hit me hard enough, I wouldn’t have the baby, and then Shuri would have enough time to build him a suppressor too.”

 Steve was about to respond when he heard people running towards them. They must have heard the screams. Gamora noticed at the same time, her eyes going wide. If it was found out that she was in a fight…

 “Go,” Steve said, pushing her away. He fell on his knees next to Pietro, scooping up some of the blood from a wound in his arm. “You stupid shit. There’s a line you don’t cross, and trying to force your friend into a miscarriage is so far from that line you’re in space. Also, Natasha and I already decided. We’re staying, you and Peter and MJ are going.” The footsteps were getting closer. Steve wiped some of Pietro’s blood on his own face. “Why’d you think we’d leave you? I thought we’d already decided you would get to go?”

 Pietro coughed, then winced. It was very possible he had a broken rib; or a few. His breath was still labored. “I thought you’d change your mind,” he admitted. “None of you like me. It’d be an easy choice.”

 “We weren’t going to leave you to die.”

 “Oh really? And if I go, and you stay here, what is that? Am I leaving you to die?”

 Steve’s hand stilled on Pietro’s arm. He gave it a brief squeeze. Pietro did have a point; Heidrun would be hell after a successful slave escape, especially at the scale they were planning. Six slaves, just… gone.

 “Neither of us are going to die,” Steve promised.

 Then the pounding footsteps were upon them. Hands looped under Steve’s armpits and yanked him back. Steve let them. He allowed himself to be dragged off, watching as Pietro desperately tried to peel his broken body of the floor before Loki could reach him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter:  
> \- Steve’s nips got pierced  
> \- Steve and Bucky went on a trip to Earth (and Steve gathered some info)  
> \- Natasha came over and decisions were made  
> \- Steve and MJ talked  
> \- Pietro tried to force Gamora to miscarriage 
> 
> Overall, this was a pretty lighthearted, fun chapter! 
> 
> And in other news, PeterParkour made a video for Peter's character from this fic! They made this a while ago, and I swear I wrote one end note with a link to it, but apparently that got deleted :( Anyways, here it is! https://peterparkour1.tumblr.com/post/183346017641/this-was-inspired-by-the-steve-rogers-guide-to  
> Its really amazing, so please give PeterParkour lots of love. And if anyone else wants to make any sort of fanworks based off of this story, that’d be amazing!!


	32. The Truth

 Pietro was on the floor, his armbands soaked through with blood. Steve was also bloody, though none of it was his own. The idea was that it’d look like he and Pietro actually fought each other, as opposed to what really happened. The important part was that Gamora and her baby were safe. 

 Bucky grabbed Steve by his hair, yanking him down the hallway. Steve screamed, clawing at his grip, but he didn't let go. Bucky threw him into a room, tossing him on the floor and slamming the door behind him. Steve rolled and pushed himself up to his knees, but didn't try to get the rest of the way up.    
  
 "The hell was that?" Bucky yelled, and Steve winced. "You... you  _ mauled _ him."   
  
 Steve clenched his jaw. He counted to ten, then down to one again. Bucky waited. Bucky waited for him to speak. Bucky waited for him to recite the lie, the ‘He pissed me off, I beat him up’. Bucky was waiting for him to say just that. Steve was waiting for  _ himself  _ to say just that. But. 

 "You know what?” Steve said, surprising _himself_. “Fuck this. _Fuck this_. Bucky, the fight wasn't my fault. I-- I didn't even fight!" He wiped his face on his shirt, smearing the blood, then tilted his chin up for Bucky to see. "Look. It's not even my blood."   
  
 Bucky locked his hand around Steve’s jaw, tilting his head this way and that to see the ‘damage’. Steve held his breath, waiting to see how badly this was going to go. Finally, Bucky gave him an intense look. "If this is true, then who _was_ fighting?"  
  
 Was Steve going to do this? Did this count as throwing his friends under the bus? "Gamora and Pietro," he answered anyways, eyes locked on Bucky's so he'd know how honest he was being. "Pietro got angry, tried to take it out on her. She beat him up. I got there right at the end, and we heard people coming, so I told Gamora to scram." Steve realized too late how that might sound; like he was trying to fool _Bucky_ , trying to lie to _him_. "It was because of Gamora," he explained quickly. "She's pregnant. I didn't want her to get punished, it'd be dangerous for the baby."   
  
 "Valkyrie wouldn't risk it," Bucky said, though he didn't sound that sure. He licked his thumb, wiping some off the blood off of Steve's face. "None of this is yours," he confirmed with a scowl. "Get up."  
  
 Steve wasn’t sure whether he was winning or losing in this situation, but he knew that regardless, disobeying wouldn’t do him any favors. Steve got up, allowing himself to be roughly lead by his collar. He even clasped his hands behind his back to complete the look. 

 The others had their escape plan; this was his. 

 Bucky dragged him back into the party, making a beeline for Valkyrie’s couch. Valkyrie noticed the murder walk from about halfway across the room, and halted her conversation, watching Bucky with interest. When they got to her, they stopped, and she asked “That you?”

 She was looking at the blood on Steve’s face. Bucky shook his head, but he wasn’t looking at Valkyrie, he was looking at Gamora, who was laying in Valkyrie’s lap. Valkyrie had one hand on Gamora’s stomach, and one supporting her head. It was surprisingly tender for such a brass person, and that sentiment was reflected in how Gamora looked up at Valkyrie like she hung the moon. 

_ But _ , Gamora wasn’t unscathed. She had a freshly broken nail, bleeding lightly on her dress. It was such a minor injury, but it would make sense that she’d had it. Pietro must have come at her with the pipe, and her nail broke when she caught it and ripped it from his hands. 

 Steve knew Gamora was able to fight, but he’d never seen it in action. He imagined she was even scarier right now than usual, what with her normal skills mixing with mama-bear instincts. Pietro was lucky to still be alive. 

 Bucky said something to Valkyrie, probably replying to her previous question. By this point, Gamora had turned her head, watching Steve with a lazily raised eyebrow.  _ Why’d you tell him? What game are you playing?  _

__ Steve just set his jaw.  _ The game I have to play.  _

__ She sniffed, turning over to stare at Valkyries leather armor instead of dealing with Steve.  _ Fine. Whatever.  _

__ Bucky had stopped talking, and was now looking at Steve. Steve just tilted his head, waiting for an order. His hands were still behind his back, even though they weren’t cuffed there. 

 He’d told the truth. He’d followed his master’s instructions. He’d put his hands behind his back, a submissive gesture, without being asked. 

 He was being  _ obedient.  _

  
  
  


————————————

  
  


 Over the next few weeks, they went over the plan in greater detail. Steve and Natasha were there even though they wouldn’t be a great part of it. Steve and Natasha would be in charge of pretending like everything was normal. There were usually at least a few slaves in the main area at any given time, and if there were no slaves anywhere, people would get suspicious faster. Valkyrie and Bucky were also both citizen soldiers, which would mean they’d need to keep them distracted. 

 While Steve and Natasha took care of them, the others would put the devices on and go through the predetermined exit point. Nebula would take out the guards— it was supposed to be her and Gamora, but now that Gamora was pregnant it wasn’t worth the risk. Pietro would probably help Nebula. He clearly wasn’t as violent as Gamora, but Steve still thought he could do some damage. The best part about Pietro was that he was  _ willing  _ to do damage. He’d go for the dirty shots, the dick, the eyes, the ones others might not be willing to do. It’d be dirty, but effective. 

 After that, they’d basically make a mad dash for the portal. They planned out the route, but Steve didn’t know the area well enough the follow their words. They’d get to the portal, which apparently was so secret it wasn’t even guarded, and would go through. On the other side, they’d immediately get as far away from the portal as possible. They would not go to the police. The idea was that they’d stay as far under the radar as possible so when the search started, their masters would have absolutely no leads. Escaping like this counted as treason, and treason was punishable by death. There would be no escaping twice. 

 Except for Steve and Natasha, of course, who’d try to escape a few weeks after, the next time they got a chance. It’d have to be after the initial panic died down. This type of escape succeeding was unheard of; they were making history. 

 If they succeeded. 

 Steve and Natasha created their own plan, which was subject to change depending on what happened next.

  
  
  
  


**Pietro-** **_Earlier_ **

  
  
  
  


 There was blood in Pietro’s mouth from where he bit his tongue nearly in half. He spit once on the ground, then closed his mouth, pushing his tongue to the back of his teeth. It was still bleeding, and he knew better than to swallow all of the blood. Too much blood in the stomach meant he would vomit, and with his aching ribs, it would be too much. 

 Pietro smeared his hand on the ground, trying to use it to push himself up. It didn’t work; his hand was too shaky, and the blood on it made his grip slippery. 

 He felt rather than heard the footsteps. It was marching, at least two sets. That meant it was probably Barnes and Loki; Valkyrie marched more quietly, and Sam did more of a saunter. Maybe not a saunter; a trot, like one of those tiny horses. 

 The footsteps sped up. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm… Pietro was getting quite familiar with the taste of his own blood. It was… tangy. Like the figs he’d eaten earlier. Bitter and metallic, a little sour, but only a little. 

 Footsteps closer. Pietro could feel it in his core, could feel it in his ribs. Just one set of feet now; it was the only one that mattered. He could feel the power running through the floor, power not like electricity, but like adrenaline, force. Power. 

 He pushed up on his forearms, trying to put all the way up to his knees, but his arm gave out at the last moment and his cheek slammed against the floor. Before he could pick himself up, fingers wrapped around his thin metal collar and pulled him up, slow enough that he had time to clutch at his throat, trying to free his airways. Loki pushed him back onto his knees, grabbed the front part of his collar this time, forcing Pietro to bare his throat. “Oh, you poor  _ pathetic _ thing. I thought we’d talked about this. I had… well, I had  _ hoped  _ you’d learned your lesson the first time, but I suppose something with as small a brain as you would have to relearn some things.” 

 Pietro could see, but he was having trouble focusing his eyes on one place. The wall was too appealing. It was a comfortable spot to rest his eyes, like they needed sleep too. 

 His collar was jerked, making him look up at Loki. He was snarling. Pietro’s eyes sunk lower, down his arm to his hand, partially red with blood from Pietro’s mouth; oops. Loki’s snarl deepened. “You vile creature; get up.”

 He was yanked up by his leash, and he realized only then that his hands were bound behind him. It wasn’t much of a surprise; Loki had a way with his hands. In another life, he could’ve been a very successful pickpocket. He had the hands of a cut-purse, the smile of a reptile, the heart of an urchin and the ambitions of a villain. His blood was probably blue with energy, his mind green with poison. 

 Pietro stumbled behind him. Loki lead him out of the building, not taking the short way either. Pietro’s eyes shifted; his mind drifted. It was part of the humiliation, he knew, letting people see him like this. It was too bad for Loki; Pietro had been playing this game for years. He’d had masters longer than Loki’d had slaves. No humiliation would work on him; he was numb to it all. 

 He drifted in and out, conscious, but more aware of the blood pooling in his mouth and the burn of his muscles than the world around him. And then they were back in the factory, the dough machines running as they always were, day or night. The ginormous mixer never stopped, even though they didn’t have the resources to make enough dough to fill it. They sold the bread at a stand on the street, just the two of them to make, package, and sell it. Logically, they should use a smaller mixer. But the mixer wasn’t small, because it was the size of Loki’s ambitions; huge, but empty inside. Full of wasted space. 

 Loki kept the leash attached as he lead Pietro inside. Through the aisle of machines, through the storage closet, through the oven room. The ovens were left on at all times, on the lowest temperature they went to. It was a way to torment Pietro— not with the heat, but with the meaning behind it. The ovens weren’t just wasted space, they were wasted  _ energy.  _ And when they ran out of energy…

 They went down a flight of stairs to the basement level. The factory remained the only place Pietro had seen on this planet with a basement. But of course, Loki used it to power his machine. 

 He got Pietro in place, kneeling on the circular platform, a few inches off the ground. The leash was released, limp and infuriating, and the cuffs remained on, but unattached to anything. Loki didn’t believe in intricate bondage. He didn’t have the time to waste on something as useless as  _ Pietro.  _

Pietro kept his eyes closed for the next part. He knew what was happening, had been through it enough times before. It was about time for another session anyways. 29 days since the last time he’d been in the basement. Usually, the mixers shut off after 32. 

Pietro sucked on his tongue idly. He’d bitten down pretty hard; it would probably need stitches. But that would wait. Of course it would wait. 

 The electrodes were attached to Pietro’s temples, and one beneath his neck. An additional cuff was placed around his left hand, measuring his heart rate and who knew how many other vital signs. Finally, a needle was stuck in his shoulder, sticking out like an antenna. That one would monitor his blood loss. None of the blood loss came from the procedure, but usually the procedure started when he was already bleeding. Loki was a lot of things, but he wasn’t careless. The misery he allowed Pietro to be in was only ever purposeful. 

 Pietro spat on the ground. The taste of blood was getting old.

 “The procedure is starting,” Loki narrated pleasantly, his footsteps echoing around the room. “Subject has previously obtained minor blood loss, and may spit as needed. If subject tries to refuse treatment, a remedial behavior device may be inserted orally.” Pietro tensed; it was almost time. “Test one.”

 “Ah!” Pietro yelled, a bolt of electricity shooting through him. 

 He could still hear Loki’s footsteps. If Sam walked like a Shetland pony, then Loki was the donkey in a funeral procession.  _ Clop. Clop. Clop.  _

__ “Creature! No need to be so quiet. Tell me, what do you have to say?”

_ No no no no no no— _

__ The electrodes weren’t actually electrodes. They had tiny points on them that allowed for intradermal injection. The shocks came sporadically, as a direct result of Loki’s commands, but the drugs came in a constant flow, slowly taking over. 

 “I think Sam sounds like a tiny pony and you sound like a donkey,” Pietro said, unable to control the words. His eyes were still tightly,  _ tightly  _ closed. “When you walk. Valkyrie marches but she’s quieter.” 

_ Clop. Clop.  _ “Interesting. If Wilson is a pony, then what is everyone else?”

 Pietro’s deceitful brain was all too happy to respond. “Barnes is a bear, the type that walks low to the ground and gets its foot stuck everywhere. Strange is a big cat, skinny with patches of fur missing and sleepy. He doesn’t do anything, ever.” He laughed, eyes still squeezed painfully shut. “Except Natasha.”

 “Interesting. Tell me more about that.”

 A shot jolted through him, and a scream had just barely left his lips when he was talking again, unable to stop. “Strange won the rights to use Natasha in a game of cards. He’s been borrowing her on and off ever since. Natasha doesn’t like him. Valkyrie doesn’t like Natasha. She’s going to make her into a nursemaid.”

 “A nursemaid?”

 “For after Gamora gives birth. If Gamora gives birth. There’s still time.”

 “Time for what?”

_ No.  _ “To stop it.”

 “How so?”

 “Not all births are successful.”

 “You’re holding something back.”

_ ZAP!  _ “Gamora doesn’t want the baby!” Pietro lied, yelling it out. “She might do something!”

 The interesting thing about the medication was that it didn’t make him tell the truth; it just made him  _ talk.  _ He jabbered like a fool, and when you talked with no way to stop, at least  _ some  _ of the things you said were bound to be true. The medication also lowered his inhibitions. Over time, he’d spilled a lot of information to Loki that he shouldn’t have, and he still had the scars to prove it. 

 “Hmm.”

_ ZAP! _ The electricity bit through him, singeing his veins from his temples to his feet. Pietro screamed, thumping his head forwards a few times to try and expel the excess adrenaline. When the body was put in a state of hyperarousal, or fight or flight, it released hormones to give the body energy. But Pietro was stuck in place, unable to move away and use up the energy. It was part of the torture. 

 He’d been quiet for too long. Loki said something, giving him just enough to tense before another bolt of electricity shot through him, more painful than the ones before. Pietro spat blood on the ground, trying to talk at the same time and ending up choking on it. He heard Loki laugh somewhere to his side. 

 “Alright, I’m done playing games. Test two. Creature, say something that is true.”

 Pietro almost choked on his bleeding tongue getting the words out. “My name is Pietro Maximoff!”

 “Mmm. Now say a lie.”

 The words came out before he could stop them. “You  _ haven’t _ been gaining weight.”

_ Clop clop clop SLAP!  _ “You think you’re so funny,” Loki sneered. “Shock!”

 This one was even worse, energy shoving through Pietro without care to the limits of pathways of his body. 

 “Now, I want to hear something more  _ worthwhile.  _ And you want to tell me something more worthwhile, isn’t that right?”

 “I don’ wanna don’ wanna don’ wanna say anyth—”

 “Have you been stealing from me?”

 “No sir! I don’t—”

_ ZAP!  _ “It’s something else, isn’t it? What have you been doing, maggot? Have you been making plans? Trying to kill me?”

_ ZAP!  _ “Ahh! No, I haven’t, I swear!”

 “But you  _ have  _ been making plans, haven’t you?”

 “Nothing I’d— nothing I’d— nothing I’d tell you!” Pietro spat out more blood, hoping it looked menacing, but knowing he was missing the mark. “Let me go letmegoletmego—!”

 “Quiet!” Pietro screamed through the next shock. “So you  _ have  _ been making plans. Not to kill me, but to kill another master, perhaps? Wilson? Barnes? You know, I may not hate that. If you kill him, I can take his slave. You could have a playmate, someone to motivate you to tell the truth faster. Who are you going to kill?”

 “I’d kill you in a. Heartbeat!”

 “But will you? Are you going to?” Throughout this entire interrogation, Loki’s voice didn’t falter. He didn’t seem even the slightest bit worried. And he shouldn’t be; Pietro was no threat to him. Sure, he’d kill him if he got the chance, but it had been years, and that chance had never arisen. 

 Pietro hung his head. “No sir.”

 “Speak!”

 Pietro groaned as his head began feeling foggier. Loki was giving him more of the drug; it’d be harder to lie. 

 “Tell the truth. Is one of the other slaves hiding something?”

 Pietro swallowed. Something dripped onto his thigh, and he realized too late it was his own blood. He trembled as he answered “Yes sir.”

 “Do you and your friends have any plans for escape?” 

 A shudder ran through Pietro, the drug inclining him to tell the truth. But he couldn’t tell the truth, he couldn’t let Loki know about the plan, that was his only was out, that was the  _ others’ only way out.  _

 Pietro snapped his mouth closed. 

 Loki laughed lowly. “Oh,  _ please,  _ do tell me more.”

 And the worst part? Pietro knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back. The drugs kept getting pumped into his system, and he knew from experience that Loki would keep him here until he got the info he wanted. 

_ Clop, clop.  _ Loki grabbed onto the collar, pulling it up to start slowly choking Pietro. “Open your mouth. Speak.”

 And Pietro did.

  
  


**Steve**

  
  


 They were all sitting in a circle, finalizing escape plans, when Steve realized Pietro had been oddly quiet. In fact… it didn’t seem as though he’d said anything at all.

 “Pietro? You doing okay?”

 Pietro blinked a few times, trying to get his eyes to un-glaze. He managed to focus on Steve by some miracle. Steve tried to look at him more assessingly; was he drunk? No, he was usually louder, more obnoxious when he was drunk. Was he high? Maybe. That would explain the redness in his eyes. Mostly he looked exhausted, almost as if he hadn’t slept in days. 

 There was something else, too. Pietro’s eyes were  _ watery _ , like he was on the verge of tears, but holding them back. He looked absolutely miserable. 

 “I’m fine,” Pietro answered, his voice a little off. “I hurt my tongue, is all.” He stuck it out, and Steve winced at the scar. 

 “That looks like it sucks.” Pietro grunted his assent, but his expression didn’t change. He looked away. Steve decided to try and get him more involved with the conversation. Maybe he just wanted to be included. “What do you think of the plan? Should we change it at all?”

 Pietro’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He looked really,  _ really  _ sick. “No. It’s perfect like this; we shouldn’t change a single thing.”

 Steve frowned. There was  _ definitely  _ something wrong, but if Pietro said they should keep the plan as it was, they should probably just do that. After all, they had been working on it for months, it was probably as good as it would ever get. “Okay. Shuri, hows that last disabler going?”

 Even as they continued the planning, Steve kept an eye on Pietro. He didn’t interact anymore, not offering any input whatsoever. Maybe he was high after all.

  
 It was hours later, laying in bed wrapped in Bucky’s embrace, that Steve realized what Pietro’s expression had meant. He wasn’t high; he was  _ guilty. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Siobhan requested seeing a scene from Pietro's POV. Thanks for the idea! I hope you liked how it turned out ;)
> 
> In this chapter:  
> \- Steve told the truth for Once In His Life  
> \- ^Aka, Steve is playing a new game called honesty and Gamora doesn’t know wtf he's doing but it hasn’t blown up in his face (yet)  
> -Pietro’s POV! Torture! Fun! Pietro probably told Loki something about the escape! Oh no! Terror!  
> \- Pietro's not telling the others that Loki knows bc he’s a punk (oh no)
> 
> In other news! I’m super busy rn with school stuff/other projects, so I will be taking a break from posting for a little while, but I promise, it’ll resume before too long. Until then, you can check out [the epic trailer I made!](https://youtu.be/WpgcOT52E0I)
> 
> I was inspired by PeterParkour's edit, and I’m really happy about how it turned out. Because I was the one who created it, feel free to hyperanalyze it to hell and back, and I’ll let you know how accurate you got. However, there aren’t any major spoilers in it either. Seriously though, watch it, I’m so proud.
> 
> Trailer on tumblr: https://succulents-in-space-you-see.tumblr.com/post/184204295501/summary-steve-rogers-at-only-54-is-kidna  
> Trailer on YouTube: https://youtu.be/WpgcOT52E0I


	33. The Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The escape!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time, on TSRGTDWI:  
> \-- Peter was not doing so hot  
> \-- Steve had some sort of plan in place  
> \-- Pietro told Loki about the escape plan (and then told no one else)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (Oh, also, general trigger warnings, but if you got this far you should be fine)

**Chapter 33**

  
  


Steve heard Bucky patter up behind him, so he didn’t react when Bucky wrapped his arms around him, nuzzling him from behind. Steve exhaled, making himself relax against him. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, so it was easy for Bucky to reach up and poke at his recently fully-healed nipple piercings. When the one month mark had come around, Bucky had taken his time messing with the two little bars. Even now, he still liked pinching and pulling at them throughout the day. Steve wasn’t a fan of them, but it meant that he received a lot of positive attention from Bucky, which wasn’t a bad thing. It made his current objective a lot easier to obtain. Little ol’ Stevie wasn’t a threat. He didn’t want to escape; he wasn’t even smart enough to know how. 

 “Whatcha making?” Bucky mumbled into his hair, his hands lowering to wrap possessively around Steve’s waist. 

 “Just tea. I made you some too, obviously.”

 Bucky chuckled, and Steve wondered if he could hear his heart pounding. Steve was trying to act casual and pleasant, but there was no escaping the fact that the party was tonight. No, not just the party; the  _ escape.  _

__ “I was thinking Sam could come over later today, with Peter,” Bucky mused, not really asking. 

 Steve tried for a brighter smile. “Before the party?”

 “Yeah, maybe around noon. You could make lunch for them.”

 Steve snuggled back against him. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

  
  


—————————

  
  


 Steve and Peter walked side by side, close enough for their hands to occasionally brush, though they didn’t try to actually hold hands. Steve was still, in the back of his mind, slightly annoyed that Peter had kissed Bucky. He still didn’t know  _ why  _ he had, but it felt somewhat intrusive. Maybe Steve had just been in denial before, and the kiss had made him realize how desperate they all were. He was sure that Peter had been pressured in some way into the kiss, but the fact that he would give in so easily made Steve a little sick. 

 Peter sighed, watching his feet. “Are you thinking about the kiss?” Steve hummed for  _ yes.  _ “I’m still sorry. I wish… I just wish…”

 “It's not a big deal,” Steve said before Peter could dig himself a deeper hole. “And it doesn’t matter. Tonight’s the night; if this goes according to plan, you’ll never have to do anything like that ever again.”

 Peter smiled, leaning against Steve. It was a thankful gesture, but there was something about it that spoke of weakness, like Peter’s legs might give out at any moment. It was good the escape was tonight; Steve didn’t know how much longer Peter could take this. 

 He didn’t know how much longer he could take this either, but that was besides the point. He’d deal with it for as long as he needed to. 

 Peter would escape. He wouldn’t have to kneel for anyone ever again, wouldn’t have to kiss or touch or fuck anyone he didn’t want to. He and MJ could hold hands and skip into the sunset, never looking at a video camera ever again. They’d be  _ free.  _

__ Steve could sacrifice a few weeks of his life for that. 

  
  


—————————

  
  


 Steve’s heart rate picked up again when Bucky started picking out clothes. Everything needed to go exactly right from this point on. 

 Which was why Steve pattered into the room, arms held to his bare chest like he was being bashful. It wasn’t a complete act; he was a little embarrassed about this. He’d never  _ asked  _ for this. “Master?”

 Bucky hummed happily, continuing to take things out of their drawers. “Yes?”

 “I was… wondering. You know how we used to do that thing? Where I, um, knelt by your feet? And my arms were…” Steve couldn’t help it, his face heated up. This was the  _ worst. _

__ Bucky was suddenly  _ very  _ interested. “You liked that?”

 “I… um… yeah. I’d like to at least, you know… try it again. And maybe, maybe if it’s good, we can do it more often?” 

 “I thought you didn’t want to do that anymore because you wanted to use the parties as a time to see your friends?”

 Steve picked at his nails. God, he was going to  _ combust  _ and  _ die  _ and fuck up this  _ entire _ plan. “I could see them at the beginning of the night, and then stay with you the rest of the time. I’ll just say hi, you know? Let them know it’s a… a good thing. Not a punishment.”

 He could tell even as he spoke that he was speaking Bucky’s love language. Bucky moved forwards, reaching for Steve. “You want this?” He asked, far too happy. 

 “I… Yes. I just,” Steve rushed out, making sure he explained himself correctly. “I just want to… I wanna make you happy.”

 Bucky pulled him into a hug, and Steve hid his face in Bucky’s shirt. “Oh, baby. You make me so happy; yes, I can do all of that. You’re so, so good, you know that?”

 Oh yes, Steve was well aware. 

  
  


—————————

  
  


__ Steve was in position. So far, he’d been able to maneuver things into place correctly. After talking to Bucky, he’d managed to go into the bathroom and do what was needed without taking long enough to make Bucky suspicious. Then, he let Bucky dress him, and they decided on what equipment they’d use that night. It almost felt like an equal relationship, like this was something Steve actually wanted. The line between what was real and what wasn’t had been getting more and more blurred with every day Steve lied. One of these days, his act would backfire on him. But it hadn’t happened yet. 

 They’d gone to the party and Steve had made a beeline for the others. They hugged and said their ‘see you later’s, and just like that, Steve retreated back to Bucky’s table. Once there, Bucky had gotten out the additional restraints and gotten Steve in position. He now knelt in between Bucky’s legs, arms bound behind him, ankles and thighs lashed together. He chewed restlessly on his ball gag. 

 Steve did his best to relax, to be calm and peaceful and not give Bucky any reason to suspect. When they used to do this, he could sometimes drift so far that he fell asleep, but there was no way that would happen tonight. Still, Steve had his eyes close to half mast. He forced his body to loosen, like he was hardly even aware of his surroundings; like he wasn’t even watching, waiting for Peter to give him the signal. He was a happy little slave, and that was  _ it.  _

__ The goodbyes had been extremely bittersweet. Steve had started with MJ, because he didn’t really know her too well. 

_ You guys’ll do great. Just make sure Peter doesn’t do anything stupid until I can get there, alright?  _

_  Haha, yeah, I’ll keep an eye on him. And make sure you stay safe, alright? Just… do what you have to. Sometimes… survival is worth it. Even if you have to push yourself further than you wanted to go.  _

_  I’ll keep that in mind.  _

  
  


__ Next, he’d said goodbye to Gamora. She kept a hand on her stomach the whole while, rubbing it anxiously, even though her expression remained calm and put together. 

_ How long now? Eight weeks? _

_  Nine. Though I could always go into labor early.  _

_  Have you thought of any names?  _

_  Steve… not now.  _

_  Okay.  _

_  Thank you. For staying. You and… Natasha… are truly the best candidates. You’re strong, you’ll do a good job.  _

_  You’re strong too. Good luck.  _

  
  


__ Steve’s goodbyes to Shuri was so quick he hardly remembered it. Then came Nebula. While most of the others were nervous, Nebula seemed to shake with fury. 

_ Finally! It’s time, we’re getting out. I’m done being humiliated.  _

_  I’m glad for you. You don’t deserve it.  _

_  Never again,  _ she swore.  _ Never again.  _

  
  


__ Over the past weeks, Pietro had looked more and more sick, but tonight he at least looked sober. His eyes were clear, even though he kept licking his lips nervously. He still had a little scar on his tongue. 

_ Hey. You ready?  _ Steve asked, not sure how else to start. 

_ Yes. It’s about time.  _

_  Okay. Well, stay safe.  _

_  Steve?  _

_  Yeah?  _

_  Come find us. Just… come back to us. Just because you can’t come this time doesn’t mean you get a free pass. I still… I expect you to follow us. _

_  Well, I fully plan to.  _

_  I’ll hold you to that.  _

__

 Steve had hugged Pietro. He’d been surprised to find that Pietro was actually quite an insistent hugger; he wrapped his arms around Steve in a way that was all-encasing, but not suffocating, and he rocked them back and forth a little. 

 Then there was only one person left. 

 Steve nudged Peter gently.  _ Hey. You okay? _

 Unlike the others, Peter didn’t feel dreamy, barely anchored in reality. He was harsh and saturated, his clothes colorful, his eyes accented with dramatic hot pink wings. “I’m… better than okay. Or, I’m going to be. Can I just… can I give you a hug?”

 Steve chuckled, opening his arms for another bear hug like Pietro’s given him. But when Peter embraced him, it wasn’t with a bear hug. It was with a  _ security guard  _ hug, a  _ kidnapper’s  _ hug. It was a lock and key hug, the type Steve wasn’t going to escape until Peter  _ let  _ him. 

 “Shut up and listen,” Peter muttered. “The others aren’t talking about it, but this is going to be really fucking hard, alright? For  _ you.  _ You’re going to be stuck here, and no matter what happens to us, if we succeed or fail— you’re still going to be here. So here’s what’s going to fucking happen. You didn’t know about the plan. You didn’t notice anything was weird, because you were too focused on your master. You know what I told you a while ago, about the boyfriend experience? It fucking works, and it’ll work even better on Bucky. Make him your world. Do whatever you have to, just make him feel like he’s the best thing that ever happened to you.  _ Steve.”  _ Peter squeezed him harder for emphasize. “ _ He’s not going to hurt you if he thinks you can still give him something.  _ So give him something— whatever you can. Make it feel like his life would be  _ empty  _ without you. You don’t want to go to a training center, and you sure as hell don’t want to get accused of treason and  _ killed.  _ So here’s what you do; you fake it so good even you start doubting it.”

 Now here Steve was, kneeling in between Bucky’s feet, arms bound behind him, gag in his mouth.  _ Fake it so good even you start doubting it.  _

__ From across the room, Peter caught Steve’s eye. Pointedly, he reached up and started screwing with his hair— the signal. It was time. 

 Steve closed his eyes, inhaled slowly, and then exhaled around the gag. It was time. It was time. It was  _ time.  _

__ He opened his eyes, letting himself tense. Then, purposefully, he shifted. 

 Bucky was talking with someone else, his voice low and pleasant. Steve shifted again, struggling minutely against the binds. 

 Bucky’s voice: “Hey Stevie. You good?”

 Steve did not look at him. He  _ didn’t.  _ Then…

 He inhaled sharply, like he was upset. It was loud enough to be heard through the gag. 

 “Stevie?”

 He didn’t respond, didn’t respond, didn’t—

 “Come on, get up.”

 Bucky unclipped his ankles from his thighs so Steve could stand, even though both his legs were asleep. It didn’t matter; Bucky supported him, arms wrapped around protectively as he led him quickly out of the room. They went down a hallway, then another, then Bucky pushed them into a room. It had a couch in it; good. Bucky undid the arm binding, then cussed as he remembered the gag, taking it out. “Stevie, what—”

 Steve cut him off with a  _ moan.  _

__ The silence was deafening. Immediately, Steve felt himself start to panic; did he do it wrong? Was it too fake? Did Bucky, somehow, know? Did he—

 “Steve?”

 “ _ Bucky,”  _ Steve begged out. “Bucky, I need, I need, I—”

 “What—”

 Steve cried out, arching his back. “It’s too much! I…  _ please,  _ it hurts. I, I, I wanted to do a nice thing for you. Wanted to get myself ready for you, surprise you when we got home, but…” He bit his lip, hoping Bucky would take his flushed face for arousal. 

Bucky was quiet for a long few seconds. Then: “Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?”

 Steve bit down harder, nodding his head quickly. He shifted a bit more, just to add to the charade. “I used that, um, plug you got me. I thought it’d be nice if I prepped myself for you, but… Bucky, it’s  _ killing me.  _ I’m so horny, and you were right there, and—”

 Steve was quickly turned around, pulling directly into Bucky’s lap. Steve winced as the plug pushed in harder, and Bucky purred above him. “Oh, baby. You want me to help you with that?”

 Outside their room, the others would be meeting, attaching the devices to their collars. They’d be getting ready, grabbing weapons. To their knowledge, there were two citizen soldiers in the group of masters: Bucky and Valkyrie. Natasha was distracting Valkyrie, which meant that Steve needed to keep Bucky distracted. He needed to keep him  _ thoroughly  _ distracted. 

 He needed to buy the others time. 

 Steve moaned again, rolling his hips. Inside him, the plug shifted. He wasn’t lying when he said it was uncomfortable. “ _ Yes.  _ Bucky, I’m begging you, please.” He made another noise when he felt Bucky’s hands on his ass, giving him a little squeeze before feeling for the plug under his shorts. Steve hid his face against Bucky’s chest, so when Bucky breathed in, he felt it instead of just hearing it. 

 But, unlike what Steve expected, Bucky’s hands ended up straying up his back, away from his ass. His touch became something comforting, familiar— not sexual in the slightest. Consolatory. “I know. That you think I’m dumb. And fine, maybe you’re right, I’m not exactly… right in the head. But I think you should know… I know something’s up.”

 Steve didn’t know what to do. Did Bucky… know? Did he actually know? Was he so willing to go here instead of hiding away because he knew about the escape, and already have safeguards in place to prevent it? Did they already screw this entire operation up?

 Bucky hadn’t confirmed that, necessarily, so Steve just hid his face further in Bucky’s shirt. Bucky stroked his hair soothingly, and at the very least his touch was still comforting, not aggressive. “First,” Bucky started, taking his time, “You say you want to try more deprivation, more… bondage. I know bondage isn’t your favorite thing, just like you know that it’s not optional. But… you decided you wanted to try more bondage, and see your friends less, and now I find out you put a plug in, when you seemed horrified by it when I suggested it. So, you’d better start explaining, otherwise imma start assuming, and I’m probably going to be wrong. So baby… what’s going on?”

 He didn’t know. He wasn’t dumb, and Steve had been sloppy, thinking Bucky would believe everything he said and fuck him stupid, but there was still time. Steve just had to play this right. 

 Steve moved to rest the top of his head against Bucky’s chest, still hiding his face but giving himself enough room to speak without being muffled. Oh, this was going to be horrible. Horrible, horrible. 

 Steve clenched down hard on his instincts and went with them. “You remember the last time— the first time we fucked?”

 Bucky was quiet for a moment, likely letting the memory seep over him, all engulfing. At least, that’s what it was for Steve. It was… mean, and aggressive, but it was good. It was equal. “I remember,” Bucky muttered. “I told you I’d spank your ass black and then we jacked each other off against the wall.”

 A surprised little laugh escaped Steve’s mouth without his permission. He covered his mouth with his hands, but it didn’t matter. “Yeah. It was basically hate sex.”

 “Basically. But… it was fun.”

 “It was,” Steve agreed. “And at the end, I was talking to you, and you asked… I don’t remember. You asked how you were doing. How you felt. If it was good.” Steve put his hands on either one of Bucky’s thighs, rubbing a little. His spine curled, his body tingling with sensations. The plug in his ass made him a little hyperaware of everything else, his straining thighs, the firmness of Bucky beneath him. “I think you’ve got a praise kink, Buck. And the hate sex was really good. But… I thought it’d be nice if we tried something different.”

 “You want me to be gentle?” Bucky guessed. 

 Steve shook his head. “Not that different. Maybe… the actions can be mean, but the words will be… nice. I don’t know, it’s kind of dumb, but I thought—”

 “I’d like that.” 

 Steve was glad Bucky couldn’t see his face. He was a little embarrassed by his small smile. Yeah, Steve would like that too. “You wanna try?”

 In response, Bucky started unclipping his harness. He was just a little rough, forceful in his unclasping and tugging. Steve let him, let his own body be small, pliable. He moved with him, and when Bucky yanked his shirt off overhead, Steve raised his arms to make it easier. There was a hard smack on his ass, as Steve gasped, the mixture of ideal pain from the slap and unusual tension from the plug mixing in his brain and confusing his body. Apparently, the good stuff won out though, because Steve could feel his dick start to get with the program under his shorts. 

 Steve wasn’t expecting it when Bucky shoved him off his lap. He practically splattered on the floor, arms and legs going out to catch himself. The plug shifted, and Bucky stood, looming over him. “Look at you. Just look at’cha.”

 Steve made himself breathe slower, pushing away the instinctive spike of adrenaline. “You’re the one with the praise kink, Buck. Don’t gotta say things like that to me.”

 Bucky got on his hands and knees, crawling over Steve. “But what if I want to?”

 Steve was suddenly distracted by Bucky grabbing his shorts and sliding them down. His gaze wasn’t clinical, like it got sometimes when dressing Steve, but appreciative. “Enjoying the view?” Steve asked weakly. 

 In response, Bucky grabbed Steve’s thighs and spread them, then shoved them towards his chest, lifting his ass up in the air. Steve made a surprised, whining noise, and Bucky took it as permission and pressed a wet kiss to his panty-clad perineum. Steve cried out, and Bucky shoved his legs to the side, climbing on top of him and kissing him. Steve kissed back, opening his mouth to let Bucky in.

 “You gonna push back?” Bucky whispered. “You gonna do anything?” 

 Ah, yes. Steve had been all too happy to be a wounded gazelle and let Bucky stalk up to him and eat him whole. 

 Steve shoved back and they went rolling. Bucky let himself be pinned, and Steve took the opportunity to kiss into his mouth, taking the dominant role even as Bucky held him down against him. 

 Steve propped himself up on his elbows, thinking of something. His entire body was on top of Bucky's, all but his head, keeping his lips away. Steve smiled down at him, aware that he was holding his kisses out of reach. “You like this, don't you? Like holding me down. Like holding me.” He nuzzled into Bucky's hair, rubbing his nose against his neck. “I think you're secretly a big softie.”

 He didn’t really believe that, but when he went to the right headspace, he could pretend. He forgot every wrong Bucky had ever done to him, every time he made him feel humiliated or inferior or small. No, this person wasn’t that person. This person was the one who made deals with Steve, who snored next to him in bed. This person, for better or for worse, would be whoever Steve interpreted him as. And right now, Steve needed to interpret him as all of the good, and none of the bad.

 Without warning, Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist and yanked him down, slightly to the side so Steve’s chest was against Bucky’s metal shoulder. His knees were still planted on the ground, raising his ass in the air. Bucky ground up against Steve’s crotch, and something in him broke. 

 Steve gasped. “I want it. Buck, please, I want it so bad—” Steve wasn’t even sure what he was saying as the words spewed from him. He was mostly naked, the chill of the room casting goosebumps across the expanse of his skin. Underneath him, Bucky was hot, his breath tickling Steve’s neck as he pressed a few kisses there, taking his time. There was the sexual stimulation, the plug, the friction, but that was just more sweat, more hot and sticky and sweet. The sexual stimulation was good, but it was the contact, the hot press of Bucky’s body wrapped around his, that made Steve moan, eyes rolling back. 

 “Look at you,” Bucky whispered. “You’re all ready for me, aren’t you?”

 Steve nodded rapidly. Somewhere between here and there, his panties were removed, and then Bucky flipped them over like Steve’s pin was a joke, holding his wrists against the ground. Bucky was still fully clothed, with Steve naked underneath him. Bucky surged down, meeting Steve’s parted lips with his own and kissing him deeply. Steve pushed back, kissing hard and trying to get his hands free. He knew he wouldn't be able to escape his grip, but he didn't want to. He just wanted to feel it; feel his grip, his intensity. Passion, he supposed. All of Bucky's energy focused on him. 

 Steve whimpered into Bucky's mouth when he felt the plug being removed, and then held perfectly still as Bucky lined up, pushing in. The feeling could only be described as filling; like water draining into a balloon, the rubber gradually stretching out, having to widen and loosen to allow for the volume. Every crevice felt filled, warm and slick and heavy inside him. 

 Bucky stopped at what Steve believed to be his full length, and started pulling out. He did it a few more times, then thrust in and  _ kept going _ , until Steve could feel it going in and in and in, and then  _ oh,  _ touching something, rubbing against something particularly nice, and then a little further, and Steve cried out. It was so much at once, too much, almost. Bucky dug one hand in Steve's hair, half petting him and half holding him in place as he jerked just a little bit further and bottomed out. Then he was pulling out, and thrusting in, repeating the process. He'd stopped pinning Steve, but his hands or otherwise, but Steve had nowhere to be. He let his arms go limp, closing his eyes as Bucky worked him over, getting harder with every thrust. Soon he was pounding into Steve, every nerve in him on fire.

 "Bucky," Steve whined. " _ Master!" _

 Something about that seemed to click in Bucky's mind, and without warning he pulled out all the way, grabbing onto Steve's legs and hoisting them up. Just like that, Steve was holding onto his own knees, leaving himself open and completely exposed for Bucky to thrust back into. Steve cried out this time; he was already so sensitive, and the new position made it ten times worse. 

 Things became a little blurry after that. Steve hugged his knees to his chest, his feet bouncing with every harsh thrust as Bucky filled him over and over. Then, finally, there was a hand on his cock. Bucky, who was still mostly clothed, had pulled out a tissue for Steve to come into, and he jerked him off until he was shuddering and making unintelligible noises as he finished. At the same time, Bucky came inside him, tossing the tissue away and collapsing on top of him with a huff. Steve felt a million miles away; he was so warm, contentedly pinned down with the bulk of Bucky's weight on top of him. His knees were still against his chest, but to stretch them out meant Steve would have to push Bucky off of him, which wasn't happening. Bucky's softening cock was still inside him, and his large form was mostly limp, holding Steve down with the entirety of his weight. No, Steve was staying there as long as Bucky wanted him to.

 Bucky's breath evened out quickly, like a precursor to sleep. Finally, he pushed himself up, but just enough to rest his elbows on either side of Steve's head, cock still mostly inside him. "Look at you," Bucky whispered again. A few of his fingers reached out, stroking Steve's hair with the softest possible touch. "You pretty little thing." 

 Steve couldn't help smiling up at him, dazy with post coital bliss. He was still in a rather interesting position-- most of his body exposed, including his limp dick and mostly stuffed hole, his knees to his chest. It was vulnerable, but Steve could afford to give some vulnerability to Bucky.

 And then the door slammed open, and Sam was yelling "Bucky! Quick, we need you, get up!" If he noticed their situation, he didn't seem to care. Steve, however, cared very,  _ very  _ much about anyone seeing him so thoroughly debauched, and scrambled over to his discarded clothes. 

 Bucky pulled out quickly, tucking himself away and zipping up his pants, and just like that, he was back to his normal clothes. Meanwhile, Steve hardly had time to pull up his panties before Bucky was attaching a leash to his collar and yanking him along as Sam explained "They're gone! We can't find them anywhere, and they got past the guards, and nothing's working, and--"

 "Sam," Bucky ordered, all playfulness from before gone. Steve choked a little as Bucky pulled him harsher. "Slow down. Start from the beginning." 

 "A bunch of slaves are missing! Come on, go faster!" 

 Steve felt something warm stir in his chest.  _ Missing.  _ So they hadn't been caught, not yet. 

 Steve fought to keep his expression neutral.

It wasn't hard; especially when Loki appeared, dragging Nebula behind him. He threw her down, and Steve cringed at all of blood staining her metal eye socket. "Attention, everyone!" Loki announced. "It is true, the slaves have escaped! Only this one remains, only because I had to quick sense to check and make sure nothing was amiss. It is good that I did, or this one would have gotten away."

 Nebula spat at his feet, baring her teeth. Steve had never seen her so furious. 

 Everyone was still bustling around madly, though they seemed to be aware of what was happening. Steve, however, was not prepared for when Loki drew a gun from his cloaks and handed it to Sam. "You know the price that must be paid," he reminded solemnly.

 Steve's head felt like it's been stuffed full of cotton. He couldn't believe… how? Why? They couldn't-- surely they wouldn't--

 Nebula did not waiver. If anything, her gritted teeth seemed to have turned into a smile. "Do it," she dared. "Show everyone how you could control me. How you could do whatever you wanted to me, using whatever means possible to get yourself off. Well, I've got good news for you, Sweetheart. You like blood? I've got gallons I can't wait to spill over, staining these halls forever. I hope you think of my corpse the next time you try and get off!"

 Steve saw the impact of the bullet a moment before he heard the  _ BANG! _ Nebula crumpled to the ground, a bullet hole slightly off-center in her forehead. She was still grinning.

 Sam looked like he was going to throw up. He shoved the gun back at Loki, who took it and disappeared it beneath his robes. 

 Everything caught up in Steve's mind all at once, and he stumbled backwards, trying to run. He needed to get away from Nebula's body and from what it entailed-- how easy people like them were to kill, how extreme the punishment was for such disobedience-- but he only made it a few steps before his leash went taut. He fell over, gagging, and Bucky yanked him back to him. Steve was hastily brought to his feet, and Bucky wrapped the arm with the leash around Steve's neck, putting him in what was almost a headlock, still standing straight. Steve gasped for air like a fish out of water. He gripped at Bucky's arm even though he wasn't actually choking him, and Bucky grabbed his hair to force him to look at him. "Calm. Down.  _ Now."  _

__ The other slaves were gone, all but Nebula, who had been dragged here by Loki. Loki? How had he found them? Their exit point was as far away from the party as possible, and Pietro'd reported that Loki never left the main hall. And the gun? Was Loki a citizen soldier? 

 "We have to get moving," Valkyrie demanded, appearing at Sam's side and seeming to shake him out of his shock. "The longer we give them to run, the further they will get. Loki, Sam--" 

 The rest of her words were drowned out to Steve's ears. He caught Natasha's eye from across the room, and that was it. His entire focus reigned in on her, just like how, only a few minutes before, it had all been on Bucky. 

 Natasha gave him an intense, concerned look. Steve couldn't focus entire to communicate anything through his expression, clawing at Bucky's arm around his throat. He shivered, and realized too late it was because he was still only wearing his underwear. A new rush of humiliation passed through him. He was nearly naked, and the rest of his appearance doubtlessly worked against him in showing everyone what he'd just been doing. 

 Bucky started moving then, dragging Steve alongside him, and Steve could hardly even see, hardly even feel. Finally, Bucky released his grip, only to bend Steve over a table and pin his wrists to his back, keeping him down and out of the way as he talked to someone. Then he was hauled up again, a firm grip still on the leash, and brought out to the car. And then they were driving, and every single part of Steve's body ached. And then they were back, and Bucky still wasn't letting go of the leash, and he was pushing Steve into the fishbowl and following after him. He forced Steve onto the bed, spreading his arms and legs and tying them down like that, the leather cuffs firm against his skin. There was a noise, and Steve whipped his head to the side to see Doctor Strange come in, and this was all, all so very wrong. Bucky left him to talk to Strange, who eyed Steve wearily through the glass, and then he came back, climbing over Steve. "Be good," he muttered, pressing a kiss to Steve's mouth. "I've got to go help Sam look, but Strange'll watch you until I get back, okay? I promise, we'll find them. Everything will be just fine." He pressed another kiss to Steve's mouth, and then was gone.

 Steve rolled his head back and forth. He was tied down by four points, in a room he couldn't leave, in a locked house. Strange looked at him mildly through the window before getting comfortable on the couch. 

 And-- and-- Nebula was dead. Murdered. Executed, without a trial judge or jury, but no one had questioned it. How had Loki known? How had he found them?

 But-- but-- just because he'd found them didn't mean he was able to bring them all back in. Pietro, Shuri, Gamora, Peter and MJ were still running, running for their lives now as the Soldier hunted them down. They had only a few minutes lead, but Steve hoped and prayed and  _ begged  _ that it'd be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter:  
> \- Steve said goodbye to everyone  
> \- Steve enacted his plan (sensory deprivation + the 'distraction')  
> \- The others escaped the building  
> \- Loki stopped Nebula and Sam shot her  
> \- Steve was left behind with Doctor Strange
> 
> Please let me know what you thought!


	34. The Emptiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super fast, surprisingly long update! Enjoy!

 Steve was tied down by four points-- each wrist and each ankle, respectively, cuffed to a corner of the bed. His bed. His bed, which Bucky had seldom restrained him to, except for the occasional short-term bondage for the sake of getting the cocksleeve on him, or applying ointment to his piercings. Bucky'd never restrained him to his bed like this, though; there was never the need. If Bucky locked his glass door, there was no getting out anyways. So what was the purpose?

 What was the point of any of this? Everyone else was gone, and they weren't even  _ gone  _ gone yet. They would still be running. These few hours were vital, and Steve couldn't do anything to help them. If they were found, he wouldn't be able to hide them. If they were caught, he wouldn't be able to defend them. If they were killed, he wouldn't be there beside them. Instead he'd be here-- he'd still be here-- always here--

 The sob was released before he could even try to contain it. It bubbled out of him, quiet but shaky, sending little tremors down his spine. God, he  _ hated  _ this. Why was he here? Why was he still here? Why hadn't he gotten out yet, why hadn't he found away, why hadn't he figured something out? Maybe he should have helped Pietro when he came at Gamora with the pipe. Maybe he should have… and then there'd be more time… and then…

 And then he'd be the lowest type of scum this earth had to offer. Killing a baby, for his own selfish reasons. Killing a baby, just to get a few weeks of time. Shame on shame. Shame on him. 

 He was too busy crying to care that the door opened. Doctor Strange walked in, surveying the scene and frowning when he saw that Steve was physically fine. "You're making a mess of yourself," he objected, like Steve might realize and stop. 

 Steve shook his head, letting it fall to the side so he didn't have to look at him. God, he hated this man. He hated all the them, everyone on this God-forsaken planet, starting with Strange and ending with himself. 

 "I suppose this is about the ones who escaped?" Strange hazarded. Steve wasn't sure why he was still there, why he was talking. He wished he would leave him to his mourning in peace. "Well, um. I haven't heard anything yet, so they're all probably still alive. It's the first 12 hours that's dangerous, you know. After that, the chances of being found are much lower."

 Steve turned, giving Strange a questioning look. Was he trying to… console him? Was that what this was?

 Strange's eyes flicked back and forth between Steve's face and the wall before he apparently gave in, muttered something about "No really, this is undignified, I really do wish you'd stop" before leaning down to methodically wipe the tears from under Steve's eyes. "There. Really, I don't see why you're upset; you're not the one being hunted." 

 Steve would surely never understand this man. "I wish I was," he admitted. 

 Strange's eyes went wide, and he quickly got up, moving away from him. Steve watched as he left the room, closing the door uselessly and going back to the couch, where his book was. Steve watched him open it and scan it with his eyes, but, if he had to say, it didn't really look like he was reading. More like he was  _ pretending  _ to read, when really, his mind was elsewhere. 

 She huffed and rolled as much as he could to his other side. This was shaping up to be a long, long night.

\--------------------

 Steve fell into a daze as the hours passed. His muscles were tight and sore, his abdomen aching from the night's earlier activities. 

 When Bucky got back, he opened and closed the door silently. Steve blinked a few times to try and dislodge the glaze over his eyes, but otherwise didn't move. Strange rose to talk to Bucky, and though Steve couldn't hear what they said, he could see the dejected pose of Bucky's body. Strange nodded, shook Bucky's hand briefly, and let himself out. Meanwhile, Bucky walked to the fishbowl. 

 Steve felt the mattress dip where Bucky knelt on it. He closed his eyes in the relief that Bucky would uncuff him, pick him up like a bride and carry them to the less exposed, more comfortable bedroom. He could change out of the gross panties, put on pajamas, curl up and just allow himself to be held. 

 Instead, Bucky uncuffed his ankles, then undid the chains on the wrist cuffs, changing the positioning so that Steves hands were clasped in front of him. He locked them like that, then laid down next to Steve, slinging his metal arm over Steve's waist and locking him in place, pinned to his chest. As soon as Steve's nose brushed Bucky's shirt, it all became too real, and he sniffed. "Buck?" 

 The word was almost too quiet to hear, but Bucky heard. He started rubbing circles on Steve's bare back, not encouraging conversation, but also not telling him to stay quiet. 

 "Did you find them?" 

 Bucky exhaled slowly, like he was angry and trying to contain himself. "No. No, we didn't. Sam and Loki are still looking. But don't worry, alright? We'll find them." 

 It occured to Steve that, in Bucky's mind, they were on the same side, like Steve was just hoping and praying that his poor, helpless friends could be found and adequately corrected. Even if that wasn't true, it did make his role easier. He nodded against Bucky's chest. "I hope." 

 Steve managed to fall asleep after that, even though they were in his bed, not Bucky's, and Bucky had never shared his bed before. This bed was supposed to be his space, and Bucky had turned it into even more of a cage than it already was. It was wrong, but then again, there were a lot of things wrong with that day. And, after a while, Steve did manage to find sleep.

  
  


\------------------

  
  


 Steve woke up to the feeling of hands on him, moving him, manhandling. He woke with a gasp, watching with perhaps unprecedented horror as Bucky undid his cuffs, freeing him. Bucky blinked at his reaction, but didn't say anything.

 The sun was already up outside. "I'll start weeding," Steve promised, stumbling up. He was  _ late.  _ "I'm sorry; I overslept." 

 "You slept  _ fine _ ," Bucky grunted. "No weeding today. Stay inside. Go shower, then we'll have breakfast. You have five minutes."

\------------------

  
  


 Steve rushed through his shower, normally liking a little more time, but not having it. Once he got out, he towelled himself off quickly and went into his bedroom. Through the glass wall, he saw Bucky check his watch and then glare at Steve, so he dropped his towel and tugged on clothes as quickly as he could. 

 Bucky was halfway done cooking breakfast, but when Steve came into the kitchen he pointed him towards his stool instead of letting him help. Steve's confusion quickly turned to annoyance when Bucky buckled a leash onto his collar, attaching the other side to the wall. "Seriously?" 

 Bucky slapped his thigh hard, and Steve winced and shut up. After Bucky turned around, he rubbed the spot that was still stinging. "I was just saying, I don't understand why. Did I do something to upset you?" 

 "It's not you I'm worried about," Bucky grumbled. "We still don't know where the escaped slaves went. Most of the search parties are on Midgard, but it's possible they're still here. They could be coming for you; I know you were friends."  

 Steve scoffed at that. No, they weren't coming for him-- they were too busy running for their lives. 

 Bucky moved towards him again, and Steve straightened automatically, preparing for another blow. It didn't come. Instead, Bucky wedged his hand under Steve's chin, forcing him to look up. "How much did you know about this?" 

 Steve's blood rushed cold, but he tried not to let it show. "Nothing. I'm as surprised as you are." 

 "I think you're lying." 

 "I think you're delusional."

 Bucky took another step into Steve's space, towering over him and practically blocking out the light. "I think… you need a punishment." 

 "You think I need a punishment or you think you need to take your anger out on someone?" 

 Bucky held his gaze for a few long seconds, his jaw clenched tight. Then he took a step back, removing all forms of contact. "First, food. Then I'll put you in your place." 

 Steve wasn't sure what it was about that day, but the words kept on coming without his permission. Besides, what did it matter? He had no parties to attend, no plans to make. If he wanted to spend the next twelve months hanging upside down by his feet in the barn as punishment, then that's what he'd do. "Oh, and  _ then  _ you'll put me in my place?" He challenged. "What, too tired to do it now?" 

 Bucky slammed the plate down loudly, just within Steve's reach. Then, without another word, he spun around and left to go outside.

 Steve picked at his food grumpily. He ate half of it because he was hungry, and then picked at the other half, wasting time. Bucky did not come back in right away, and Steve, leashed as he was, had nothing else to do but wait. 

 Bucky was still silent when he came back in, unclipping his leash and gesturing subtly for Steve to put his plate away. By that point, Steve's frustration had died out, being replaced by curiosity at what Bucky would do to him. He hoped it was a spanking; he needed to feel something right about now.

 Bucky tidied up around the house, messing with the already pristine pillows and cushions. He had Steve wash the floor, but that was one of his normal chores, not a punishment. Then, finally, he commanded "Shirt stays on. Go change into a jockstrap." 

 Steve grunted in annoyance, but went to obey. So far, he hadn't worn any jockstraps besides once in store. They were humiliating, cupping and covering in the front, and open in the back, hugging the underside of his ass in the back but not actually covering anything. It was with a great level of disgust that Steve slid one pair up his thighs, getting it settled into place. 

 He turned and ran straight into Bucky, letting out a rather undignified noise. Bucky just shoved him onto the bed, continuing on to the tower of drawers and pulling out his materials. He manhandled Steve into place, tying his arms together straight down his back and then doing up a simple harness across his chest. 

 "This isn't even bad," Steve complained, once he's figured out what was actually happening. Sometimes he forgot; Bucky was a pussy. He'd never actually do anything to him. "I thought you were going to make me hurt." 

 The resulting slap to his ass shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did. He felt his cheeks go red; the jockstrap accentuated his butt, making it look rounder, and, as it didn't cover much of the skin, the red mark that would normally be hidden by panties would be completely visible. 

 Bucky pushed his metal fingers into Steve's mouth without warning, prying his jaw open with them and pushing in a large ring gag, the type that kept his mouth taut and open. Steve made a frustrated noise, which was heard just fine, but he knew that any words he tried to make would be a garbled mess. 

 "You're going to remember how to play nice," Bucky ordered, low and aggressive. "And maybe then, I'll untie you."

 After that, he picked Steve up like it was nothing and carried him to the couch. He sat with Steve's torso on his lap, and started to bind him further. Steve legs were bent at the knees and hogtied to his hands, forcing him to arch uncomfortably. Then, just like that, he was done. He stopped moving, and the world was silent. 

 Steve let out a shaky breath through the open gag, and without warning, Bucky spanked him hard. Steve let out a high pitched strangled whined, trying to squirm away. It wouldn't be fun to fall off the couch without being able to catch himself, but at that moment he didn't care, willing to do whatever to get away. He didn't get far, though, before Bucky grabbed his hips and yanked him back. "Hey, stop that. You're gonna bust your face open." 

 “Ull ust murr ace m-fmm!” 

 Steve half expected another slap, but Bucky just sighed. “Alright, I’m done playing now. Shut up, or I’ll find something to fill that gag with. I’m going to spend some time reading now, and you’re going to spend some time right here, thinking about what you did. Alright?”

 Steve responded through the open gag with something rude, but too muddled to understand. In answer, Bucky stuck his fingers through the open circle, pressing them down on Steve’s tongue and holding them there. It wasn’t like when he made Steve suck his fingers at the trial, because due to the gag, Steve couldn’t close his mouth around them. Instead he was left with the heavy weight of them on his tongue, the shifting feeling of his throat trying (and failing) to close around them. 

 Steve’s chin was resting on Bucky’s thigh, the position allowing enough room for Bucky’s hand, but not making it extremely comfortable for Steve. He felt Bucky shift a little, but didn’t hear the telltale sound of a book being opened, so he wasn’t sure what he was doing. 

 Steve held the position for a few minutes, being quiet and still, too focused on breathing around Bucky’s hand and keeping himself balanced to pay much attention to anything else. He was pulled slightly back into reality when Bucky ran his fingers under the elastic of his jockstrap. Steve whined a little, and shifted, but didn’t try to really get away. Bucky’s fingers on him like that was just a strange sensation, almost ticklish but not quite. Bucky pushed his fingers a little deeper in Steve’s forced-open mouth, forcing Steve to refocus on that. 

 Finally, Bucky pulled his fingers out, bringing a line of spit with them, which he wiped away. He ran his hand through Steve’s hair, mussing it up. “You’ve been good,” Bucky whispered, making Steve blink a few times, like he was waking up, before relaxing again. “Your punishment isn’t done yet, but I’ll let you decide: do you want the ring gag, and no fingers, or fingers and no ring gag?”

 It wasn’t a hard choice, though saying it aloud was a little undignified. “Hng-nuhs.”

 He was immediately met with praise, which made the humiliation simmer back down to its baseline. Then, Bucky’s hands were on the back of his head, unbuckling the gag and reaching around to slide it out of Steve’s mouth. Steve immediately closed his mouth, working his jaw and getting ready to swallow the spit that had built up, when Bucky carefully pushed his fingers into Steve’s mouth again. Steve made a displeased noise as he tried to swallow around them, but Bucky just shushed him, pushing in a little more before stopping, comfortable with his fingers being warmed in Steve’s mouth. Steve huffed around them, but at least it was better than the ring gag. 

 Bucky loosened his hogtie a little then, letting Steve’s body relax, even though his arms stayed behind him and his knees stayed bent. He also had more wiggle room now, so he carefully adjusted until he could tilt his head to the side and rest it on the couch, eyes closed and sucking on Bucky’s fingers idly. He got more pets for that, and then Bucky went back to whatever he’d been doing before. 

 Steve let himself drift. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be, and the bondage meant that it was a lot of work to more his body, and Bucky’s hand meant that it’d be uncomfortable to move his head. So he held a comfortable stillness, resting and drifting until Bucky’s voice woke him up again. He was on the phone— so that’s what he’d been doing— except he was speaking in Russian, so the words meant nothing to Steve. No chance to eavesdrop— a shame. Steve ignored it. 

 When Bucky was done with that call, he took to stroking Steve’s arched back, making him twitch and test knots that held him. They were secure— he was secure. He was secure, right there, until Bucky wanted to move him. 

 When that did inevitability come, Bucky’s hand had come to land on his bare upper thighs, and he spoke softly, comfortably. “There we go. You needed this, didn’t you? Needed to be out in your place. Isn’t that right?”

 Steve didn’t realize he was expected to respond until he felt a hand on the back of his neck, and hastily nodded, Bucky’s fingers choking him briefly. 

 “There we go. Alright, I’m going to let you up now, and you’re going to be good for me, alright? Alright.”

 He did let him up then, removed his fingers and undoing the bindings. After that, he helped Steve stretch out, testing his limbs weakly. Steve tried to get up to go back to his room for different clothes, but Bucky pulled him back before he could even stand up. “Come on. We’ll watch a movie, how does that sound?”

 Steve tried to pull back, but Bucky had a good grip. “Let me just change,” Steve explained, not intending to wear the jockstrap any longer than he had to. It was plenty comfortable, but it was the humiliation of it that Steve didn’t like.

 “No, I think you’re fine,” Bucky decided, pulling Steve down onto the couch, partially on top of him. Steve had a feeling this wasn’t a fight he’d win, so he gave him, trying to get comfortable when he felt something click onto his collar; another leash. Anger flared fast and warm in his blood, fighting against the dreamy calm, but before he could say anything Bucky reminded “I just want you to be safe.”

 Bucky never,  _ ever  _ leashed him while they were inside, not even when Steve first arrived. It was pointless; all of the windows and doors were locked, and even if Steve did get out, he’d have to run down the road with Fenris chasing at his heels. There was no need to be leashed indoors. 

 Bucky couldn’t see Steve’s face from how they were laying, but that didn’t stop him from wrapping a hand around his jaw, squeezing it. “Hey, angry boy. Calm down. Things are changing, and we’re going to have to take precautions for a little while. You don’t need to like it, but this is what we’re doing, so you’d better fucking deal with it or we can do another punishment.”

_ Another punishment.  _ No, that was alright, Steve was good, thanks. 

 Steve slumped back against Bucky, still not happy about the circumstances, but willing to relax his body to show Bucky that he’d gave in.

  
  


——————————

  
  


 They fell into a new, vaguely unsettling rhythm. Their was still no sign of the other slaves, which Steve hoped meant they'd managed to truly escape. Good for them; Steve was happy for them, truly, but he had other things going on that made their victory a little bittersweet. 

 As the slave hunt continued, Bucky spent much more time online keeping up with the search than he normally did. In the meantime, Steve's rights remained strictly rationed; he kept couch and clothing privileges, but was forbidden from going outside. It would be the harvest soon, which meant it was the time of year with the biggest workload. Steve should've been out there-- after all, hadn't Bucky, bought him for that exact reason? But instead he was cramped up inside, leashed to the counter or the wall or the couch, waiting for Bucky to come back in. 

 This continued on for the remainder of the week. No one came over, which wasn't unusual, but without any way to get exercise or fresh sunlight, Steve felt himself dragging his feet. 

 Finally, it was the week's end and Bucky announced that he had to go into town to meet with his therapist. "I'll see if she'd be willing to start doing home meetings," he said as he got ready, Steve lingering by the doorway. "She does for other clients, but because of my so called 'isolationist tendencies' she likes making me go into town to see her." 

 Steve felt a small glimmer of hope, but was too tired for it to be much more than that. "Yeah? And what about me?" 

 Bucky let out a slow sigh. "I don't want to do this. I really don't." Steve waited, watching as Bucky ran a hand through his loose hair, then pulled on his mask, fiddling with the straps. "I need--"

 "To take me with you," Steve finished eagerly. "That way, you can ensure that I'm safe. You can't ensure that if you leave without me." 

 Bucky huffed, clearly not pleased with the interruption. "No. Your safety out there isn't guaranteed, and no slaves are allowed in the sessions. You'd have to wait in another part of the building, and that will not be happening. So you will stay here." 

 "But Buck--" Steve started.

 Bucky cut him off with a loud snap, his movements sharp and precise as he gestured for Steve to come and stand by his feet. Steve did, though reluctantly, and besides clenching his fists, he did not fight back when Bucky pulled his collar up to make him meet his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was low, gravely. "You are mine." 

 Oh, jeez. This. "Yes Master, I know, I just--"

 "You are  _ mine _ ," Bucky repeated. "And you will obey  _ me _ ." 

 "I'm sorry Master, I know--"

 "Quiet," Bucky hissed, and Steve closed his mouth. "Right now, everything is crazy. Everyone is panicking. I've been protecting you from seeing that, protecting you from feeling that, but I can't protect you and have you hate me at the same time. So you're going to do what you're told, and you're going to be nice about it, alright? Alright?" 

 Steve nodded his head fiercely when Bucky made it clear he wanted an answer. That seemed to appease him for now, and he lead Steve back into the fishbowl where he was bound with his hands behind his back to a bedpost. Bucky reminded him to  _ "Be good",  _ and then was gone, locking him in.

  
  


\----------------------

 The thing about Bucky's therapist was that she didn't actually help anything. In terms of Steve's life, she seldom made any impact at all. He still was hopeful that she'd do something about his current situation, but when Bucky came back and uncuffed him, his opinions seemed unchanged. 

 Steve finally got up the nerve to ask about it when they were getting ready for bed. He'd struggled to say anything for the hours up until then, but finally got out "So, what'd you talk about?" 

 Bucky pulled his toothbrush out and spit, taking his time. When he looked at Steve, it was in the reflection of the mirror. "The incident. It's all anyone's talking about, nowadays; I wasn't lying when I said I was trying to protect you." 

 "Yeah," Steve pressed on, "but what about it? Did she say anything about me, or--" 

 Bucky shrugged. "Not really. She mostly asked how the event was affecting me. She thinks…" he hesitated, like he was unsure how to say it, or if he should say it at all. "She thinks I'm turning to old coping mechanisms to handle it."

 "I mean… you are." 

 Steve was tired enough that when Bucky sauntered up to him, getting in his space, he didn't even flinch. "Come'on," Bucky muttered, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him towards the bed. "Let's go to sleep."

 Steve sighed at the misdirection, but gave into it. He sat on the bed as Bucky attached the cuff and chain to his ankle, then laid down as Bucky crawled in over him, pulling him close. 

 Steve couldn't get quite comfortable. There were still too many thoughts racing through his mind-- insights and fears and hopes. Peter's face, laughing as Gamora poked him in the side. Nebula's face, sneering as the gun was pressed to her forehead. 

 "Master?" Steve whispered into the dark. "Will things ever get better?" 

 Bucky shifted, pulling Steve even closer so they were spooning. The chain attached to Steve's foot shifted from the movements. "Of course, baby. I'm sorry you have to go through this; I promise, everything I do is for your own good."

 Steve nodded. Yes, he knew that; Bucky told him often enough. He just needed to be grateful. That was the secret, wasn't it? Emotions were all fleeting, malleable. They could be distorted as needed. 

 So, with that knowledge in mind, Steve made his body relax, one muscle at a time, until he was leaning fully against Bucky. He found his hand under the covers and intertwined their fingers together. "Yeah," he exhaled. "I'm sorry too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter:
> 
> -Steve and Strange had their little talk (wording is important)  
> -Bucky came back, and they had their morning after (including the punishment)  
> -Bucky decreases what Steve's allowed to do / go  
> -Bucky goes to therapy and Nothing Gets Done
> 
> For this chapter, I'd like to encourage you to comment looking at how people are reacting to the situation at hand. How are Steve and Bucky each dealing with it? And, if you were to guess, how do you think the other masters and slaves are dealing with it?
> 
> Hope your day is going well :)


	35. The Glass

S teve woke up to Bucky playing with his nipple bars. He groaned, knowing better than to try and slap his hands away, and buried his face in the pillow. The tugging sensation was not one he disliked, but the act of something so intrinsically sexual with no intent to follow through was annoying. 

 Bucky got up when he got bored of playing with him, and showered, which meant Steve was stuck there until he came back. 

 The rest of the day went like  _ every  _ day had been going. Steve was not allowed to go outside; Steve was not allowed to do his chores. Steve was not allowed to talk back. Steve was not allowed to do what he wanted. 

 Steve was not allowed to do  _ anything _ . 

 Well, that was a lie. He became an expert at lap warming, and couch-sitting, and wall staring. Clearly, he was being used to his full potential. 

  
  


\---------------------

  
  


 Steve was losing his fucking mind.

  
  


\---------------------

  
  


 It happened later that afternoon. 

 The morning had been spent with Steve playing rag doll as Bucky watched bondage videos and practiced his knot-tying. He hadn't done any full body ones, just trying smaller ones, testing their strength, and then undoing and starting over. They talked a little while he was doing it, but not much.  

 After that, Steve made lunch-- a privilege Bucky barely agreed to-- and Bucky announced he wanted to try one more knot, so if Steve wanted to go to his room and get the rope--

 Outside, Fenris started barking. It was probably not a big deal, but it made Bucky practically jump. He grabbed his gun and stormed outside-- stopping only to lock the door. Steve stood there, dumbfounded, and realized with a start that Bucky  _ hadn't leashed him. _

 Not that it mattered. He'd still locked the door. Steve couldn't do anything. Except… except…

 He could suddenly do a lot more than he had been able to. He could go wherever in the house he wanted. He could raid the pantry. He could go to his room and crawl under his bed. He could, he could--

 It was a jolt of pure desperation that lead Steve to grab a chair-- Bucky's chair-- and smash it through the living room window. Fuck  _ everything,  _ Steve was so fucking done, fuckity fucking fuck fuck  _ fuck.  _ Bucky could euthanize him for this. Bucky could  _ castrate  _ him for this. Steve didn't care. He was going to see the sun again. 

 He threw the chair to the side and took a running jump, leaping through the window. Some of the remaining glass scratched at his skin, but Steve couldn't be bothered. He didn't give a single shit. So what if there was a better way? So what if he was being dumb? He'd be as dumb as he goddamn pleased, because no matter how stupid that move had been, it had  _ worked.  _ He was  _ outside.  _ He was, in some fucked up meaning of the word,  _ free. _

__ There was some noise coming from the pond-- the geese must have been fighting, which was what would have triggered Fenris' response-- so Steve ran in the opposite direction, to the fields. He went to the one hosting the peppers, now tall and speckled with reds and oranges and yellows, look at all that color, and was the sun always so bright? Steve got on his knees, digging through the dirt to start weeding. He was being useful. 

 He got a small pile going before leaning over a little too much to reach one, and toppling onto his back like an upended turtle. Once there, he decided that having the sun on his face instead of his back was preferable, so he stayed there, eyes closed and basking. 

 There was no way to tell how far the others has gotten. Steve didn't know where they were, but he imagined that wherever they were, whether it be Earth or Heaven-- because it was only one of the two, he knew that, Nebula's death had been her choice-- he imagined they were laying in the sun too. Basking. 

 It was glorious. 

 Steve daydreamed about a day a few years ago. It was Clint's birthday, and Natasha had dragged him to a weird specialty drink shop, where they got fruit flavored sodas and soda flavored ice cream, opening big presents in little boxes and little presents in big boxes. And, like right now, the sun was out, beaming with pride. They sat outside on the veranda, the three of them, joking and roughhousing and saying whatever came to mind, no matter how stupid. And it was perfect. And beautiful. And warm.

 Steve got so lost in the memory, it took him a moment to realize that his sun had been partially blocked. He thought at first that it was a cloud, and then he remembered, and made himself open his eyes. 

 Bucky was standing over him, shadowed and dangerous, the gun on his back. Fenris stood by his side, snarling and drooling, held back by his collar.

 Steve pushed himself up to his elbows, not rushing. There was no need. He was going to get reamed either way.

 Bucky kicked at the weeds, scattering them around. A few landed on Steve, but he didn't care. The earth could open up and consume him, if it so felt the inclination. He was done. 

 "Stevie," Bucky muttered, low and scraggly. "What. The hell." 

 Steve tilted his chin up in challenge. That had the added bonus of exposing his face more to the sun, which was always good. "You can't keep doing this to me," he said, quiet but clear. "You bought me to be a labor slave and you took away my labor. If you keep me trapped inside I'm going to lose my mind further than I already have. You can't contain me forever." 

  
  


\-----------------------

  
  


**Bucky**

  
  


 Bucky didn't like having so many people at his house, but it was necessary. He walked around, careful not to step on any tools or sheets of glass. He'd be stupid, careless. Had to do better.

 So, as soon as he'd found Stevie, he called a company to come and replace all of his windows and glass doors with bulletproof ones. It was honestly something he should have done earlier-- he used to leave Steve home alone all the time, what the hell-- and it was a basic safety provision. He already had one bulletproof wall-- the one dividing Steve's room from the living room-- and he'd stupidly assumed the other glass fixtures, the doors and windows, were as well. They were already all made of SmartGlass, which is how he knew straight away that one had been broken, but by then Steve was already long gone. Hiding in the vegetables, Jesus. Bucky'd nearly had a heart attack. 

 Bucky had left Steve there to sort himself out while he made the call to the glass company. It seemed like he needed a moment, and Bucky was so relieved to find him that he couldn't imagine punishing Steve, not yet. He'd been-- fuck, he'd been terrified. Absolutely terrified. 

 Now, Bucky watched the glassmen work, trying not to get in their way. The house was more open than it'd ever been, with fresh air coming in through the holes where the windows and doors had been. Workers were scattered in and out of the house, calling out to each other across the way and making a general commotion, but their work was clean, and they promised it'd be done by sunset, so Bucky wasn't going to interfere. 

 As for Steve… well, Steve sat on the couch, his knees pulled loosely to his chest. He was moderately scraped up, and a little grimy besides, but Bucky'd given him a quick check and it didn't look like any of the wounds were worth worrying about. He'd check them again tonight. 

 Bucky looked at Steve's position again, assessing him. He was watching one of the workers with more interest than he'd shown anything all week. His legs were curled partway to his chest, an unnaturally small position for Steve-- ah, that's why. Bucky'd nearly forgotten. 

 Before the workers could arrive, and after checking him for injuries, Bucky had attached a cock cage onto Steve. It wasn't a normal one, and he hadn't planned on ever using it, but it was certainly effective. It was restrictive in a way that made curling his legs up most comfortable, but allowed some walking if needed, but no running. Steve would need a bigger punishment for what he did, but for now the cage kept him confined to the couch. 

 Bucky hadn't leashed him, for once. First of all, he doubted Steve would do any standing or walking for a few hours at least, and secondly, the house was swarming with glassmen, and Bucky was keeping a close eye on him. 

 Bucky'd been too literal about keeping Steve safe lately. His therapist was right-- he'd regressed back to old habits. What was it that Sam had told him? The best way to keep someone from rebelling is to make sure they have no reason to rebel? 

 Bucky'd been giving Steve reasons to rebel left and right. He'd been careless. He'd be better. 

 He took another lap around the house, checking that everything was going as planned-- it seemed as though Fenris was having the time of his life, getting lots of pets and compliments from the workers-- before heading to Steve's couch, plopping down next to him. He put an arm over Steve's shoulders, pulling him close. "How is it feeling?" 

 "Horrible," Steve complained. "I hate it." 

_ Yeah, well. Them's the breaks.  _

__ "And your injuries? Any that are hurting more?" 

 Steve tried to wiggle away, and Bucky frowned, tugging him closer. Steve needed to stop doing that. "I'm fine," he insisted, his tone a little bitter. "You can screw off." 

 Bucky sighed and moved away, getting ready to stand up before he remembered something. He reached under Steve's knee and grabbed at his crotch, squeezing and feeling the metal contraption beneath. Steve went bright red, probably from discomfort-- or maybe humiliation? The shame of other people around, seeing? Bucky'd have to keep that in mind. 

 He squeezed again, a little harder, and Steve tilted his head back and groaned. A few repairmen snickered, but most continued their work. 

 "Remember this," Bucky said, with a rough pat to Steve's crotch, "Next time you think of doing something stupid."

 "Yes master." 

 And that was his cue. Bucky let up, then got up, walking away with the feeling of Steve's sharp gaze on his back. 

 In his pocket, his phone buzzed, and Bucky pulled it out. It was Sam, again.

  
  


**From: Sam**

**Officially heading home now**

**I've got a team still looking, but idk**

**They say we probably wont find them**

**From: Bucky**

**I'm sorry**

**From: Sam**

**I'm fine. Its nbd.**

**I'll get over it.**

**…**

**Can I come over later?**

**From: Bucky**

**That'd be good**

**Steve had a fit earlier**

**I think I might need a second point of view**

**From: Sam**

**Hey, good for you**

**You should tell Jane about that**

**She'd be proud that you remembered your strategies**

**From: Bucky**

**I'll tell her next session**

**Ugh. Did I tell you I had to leave Steve at home yesterday?**

**Cuffed him in his bedroom. I didnt have a choice, I couldn't bring him with me, but I still felt bad.**

**From: Sam**

**Hey, we do what we have to do.**

**But again, good on you for asking for help.**

**We're not meant to solve all our problems on our own.**

**Ill be there in a few hours.**

  
  


\-------------------

  
  


**Steve**

  
  


 Steve stayed on the couch for most of the rest of the day. When all of the glass was finally replaced, and all the workers had gone home, Bucky came over and undid the hellish cock cage. It wasn't the most painful thing he’d ever experienced, but it wasn’t very comfortable and Steve’s legs felt stiff when he finally stretched them out. Bucky didn’t just let him off Scott-free though; after detaching the device, he latched a  _ different  _ cock cage in place. It was still not particularly comfortably, but this one was simpler, and while neither of them were great, this one was plain enough that he could forget about it. It also allowed for full leg movement, which was sincerely appreciated. 

 Steve was laying on the couch, his hands cuffed together in front of him and attached to a leash, when a noise came from the front and the front door— the locked front door— opened. Steve was only vaguely aware of the fact that Bucky was outside feeding Fenris as he sat up, frowning. 

 Sam walked inside, giving the house a quick look around and setting his bag on the floor before heading to the kitchen. Steve almost wondered if he hadn’t seen him, when he casually said “Hey, Steve.”

 What was this? That was the proper etiquette of doing— anything. What the hell? Bucky needed to be in here, and Sam needed to knock, and Steve needed to be unlocked so he could answer the door and take his jacket— which was, for the record, a simple gray thing that was the least colorful thing Sam had ever worn— and then, and  _ then,  _ Sam should’ve have been so casual with Steve. Addressing him by name, not bothering with a cheek kiss or anything…

 “Bucky’s outside,” Steve said in a vague attempt to right this colossal  _ wrong _ of a conversation. 

 “I figured. Where’s the rest of the tea? I need something with caffeine.”

 Steve directed him to it, more confused than ever, and not a big fan of Sam in  _ his  _ kitchen. He realized he had bigger fish to fry too late, when Sam plopped down on the couch next to him and dropped a hand on Steve’s thigh. Steve’s  _ upper  _ thigh.

 Steve held perfectly still as Sam drank his tea, just keeping his hand on Steve in a show of… possession? Honestly, Steve didn’t get it. He’d seen masters get pretty damn territorial over their slaves before. A lot had no problem with ‘sharing’ them, but only when they’d agreed to it beforehand. This show of… dominance?... was unprecedented. 

 Sam’s hand had wandered a little further, close enough to almost feel the metal bands around Steve’s cock, when the back door opened and Sam exclaimed “Bucky!” Bucky looked a little wild eyed, but accepted the bear hug Sam gave him, even somewhat returning it. 

 “Hey. I didn’t— realize. You were here already. Um, Steve, get us some tea.”

 “I already got tea,” Sam explained. 

 “I’m still cuffed,” Steve complained. 

 Bucky grumbled a little, but uncuffed Steve, pushing him towards the kitchen with a small pat on the butt. “Just get tea for me, then. Sam, any—”

 Sam shook his head, and Steve immediately perked up. He did his best to make the tea and watch at the same time, just in case they were talking about what he thought they were talk about. “No. No news, no trace. We’re lucky that Loki found them when he did, even if he only caught the one. Otherwise, we probably wouldn’t know which portal they went through, and we wouldn’t be able to close it.”

 Bucky exhaled. “At least there’s that. You have no idea how worried—”

 “Oh trust me, I do. I just— you never think it’ll happen to you, you know? And then it does. And everything was perfect, couldn’t get better, and now it’s… man, my whole life is in the trash. My slaves are gone, my career’s ruined—”

 “Hey, you’re being too hard on yourself. You can get other slaves. You’ll have to train them, but I bet that will bring in more views. And have you been filming—”

 “Yeah, Yeah, I’ve blogged some during the search. And I know I can get more leaves, but not for another year! I didn’t tell you, but they took my house slaves away too. You’ve never known loneliness until you go back home to your huge house and find it empty. I just… man, it’s been hard.”

 Bucky submitted to another, longer embrace as Steve carried the tea into the living room. It was weird seeing Sam and Bucky interact; Sam was one of the most tactile people Steve’d ever met, and he thought Bucky was too, but he really, really wasn’t. Bucky just touched Steve a lot. With his actual friends, he hardly made contact. 

 Steve had made two cups of tea, one for him, and one for Bucky. Bucky’d only ordered him to make one, but fuck ‘em. Steve could drink tea if he goddamn wanted to. 

The masters pulled away, and without looking at Steve Bucky took his mug, and pushed Steve down to kneel by the couch. Bucky and Sam both sat, switching to Russian as they chatted. Steve sipped his tea and tried to remain as passive as possible, so Bucky didn’t remember that he was still uncuffed. 

 They were still talking when Steve finished his tea, setting his mug aside. Bucky took it from him, and he didn’t even look annoyed, so Steve counted it as a win. But they were  _ still talking _ , so he scooted to sit in between their feet, leaning against Bucky’s knee. Bucky ruffled his hair gently, and Steve let his eyes drift shut. 

 The next time Steve opened his eyes, it was a few hours later, judging by the darkness outside. Sam was standing, stretching, and Bucky gently prodded Steve into standing too. They headed to the bedroom together— as in, all together,  _ all three of them,  _ and when Sam put his arm a little low around Steve’s hips, Steve was too tired to truly mind. 

\-----------------------

  
  


 Steve dozed on top of the covers, awake enough to hear but not move. The cool sheet tickled his nose, and he could just make out the voices coming from the bathroom. 

 "I…" Sam huffed, long and watery. "I should not be so upset. I should, I should--"

 "Hey, it's okay."

 "No, it's really not. He was just-- he was just a-- and I really shouldn't be upset, but I am! I can't get over it! And he-- that's the problem, Buck, I can't understand why Peter left! I just-- I have to get him back, that's what it comes down to. I have to get him back. If I don't, I don't know what I'll--"

 "Hey, hey, Sam, calm down. We'll get him back. I promise." 

 "But the thing is, you can't  _ make  _ a promise like that! He could be lost somewhere, scared and alone. He could he-- do you think he's scared of coming back? Scared I won't forgive him? It'll hurt, but I'll forgive him, I'll forgive everything if he just--"

 "Sam! Stop, you're talking yourself in circles. Do you think this is healthy? Does this feel healthy?" 

 There was a pause, with a few more little noises. Crying, Steve realized. Sam was crying-- had been crying, maybe, throughout the conversation. 

 Finally, Sam spoke again. "Look, I gotta get home."

 "Sam--"

 "This is something I need to do. I'll… I'll come back tomorrow. I'll sleep over for the rest of the week if you want me too, but tonight I gotta be in my own house. I'm not ready to let go."

 "Okay… be safe. I'll expect you back here tomorrow."

 "Alright, cupcake. I'll be right here." 

 More shuffling, maybe a hug? And then Sam left the bathroom, going back through the room without a word. Steve didn't bother opening his eyes; for all intents and purposes, he was already asleep.

 He jolted at the feeling of a slap on the bottom of his foot, eyes opened wide. Bucky was standing at the end of the bed, his expression harsh and difficult to read. "Its not nice to eavesdrop." 

 Steve wiggled indignantly, trying to get cozy again. "I wasn't eavesdropping; I was sleeping." 

 His eyes were closed again, so he felt rather than saw Bucky locking the cuff around his ankle. He stayed stubbornly still as Bucky maneuvered him to get him under the blankets, then crawled over him to get to his side of the bed. As soon as he was under the covers, he wrapped around Steve with his entire body, pulling him flush against him. Steve unabashedly snuggled closer.

 "Goodnight," Bucky mumbled, rubbing Steve's arm warmly. "Sleep tight." 

 Steve made a little noise in response, already drifting.

  
  
  


————————

  
  


**_POV ???_ **

  
  


 The safehouse had been secured. He knew that. Gamora had showed him how, and he’d practiced and checked and made sure he was getting it right. The safehouse had been secured. The safehouse was secure. 

_ They were secure.  _

__ It had taken a few days to get here. First, they had to travel to the site of the other portal, the one Natasha and Steve would come through. Under one of the trees, Gamora had buried information on how to find them. Natasha and her had strategized for that part. They didn’t know when Nat and Steve would come through, but when they did, they’d know how to find them. 

 There was a light breeze, rustling his hair. He brushed his hand across it, wincing when he felt the scar. When everything went to shit, he fought the second guard while the others ran, and Nebula took on Loki. He’d beaten the guard in the end, but Nebula was yelling at him to run, so he did. He still didn’t know what had happened to her.

 Walking inside, he jolted at the sound of the front door opening, but it was just Shuri. She grinned, at him and then at the others in the ratty living room. “I couldn’t get my hands on any wire cutters, but I did get this.” She grinned, holding up what appeared to be a tattoo gun. “I’ve never done a cover up before. Who wants to go first?”

 Pietro made an annoyed noise from the couch. He still had leaves in his hair from the incident earlier. “How did you find a tattoo gun but not wire cutters?” He complained. 

 “I’ll go,” Peter interrupted. He let go of the doorknob he’d still been clinging onto, and walked slowly to Shuri, unzipping his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt, lowering it to expose his shoulder. He'd keep that, as well as his undershirt, on. The tattoos on his shoulder would be plenty accessible from there: two of him them, the top one with a line through it, and the bottom one still clear as day:  _ Собственность Сэма Уилсона.  _

 Shuri started getting the machine ready, looking over the tattoos assessingly. “Alright. What do you want to cover it?”

 “I don’t care,” he said immediately. 

 Shuri’s hand was heavy on his shoulder. “That’s the thing. It’s your body now; you get to decide. Whatever you want.”

 She helped him brainstorm a few ideas, until he eventually settled on one. It’d be nice, but if he was honest, he really didn’t care that much. Whatever she did would be better than the original tattoos. Besides, this was the first step, wasn’t it? The first step of erasing Sam Wilson from his life, forever. 

 Whatever it takes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter:  
> \- Steve gets desperate for some (vitamin) D (and smashes a window, making his grand escape to the vegetable garden)  
> \- Bucky's POV!!  
> \- Steve's punishment (the cock cages) + window replacement  
> \- Sam  
> \- Peter's POV!!
> 
> I feel like this is a pretty satisfying chapter. Steve fights back, we get to see some of how Bucky's brain works, and we get a sneak peak at the escaped slaves! Kudos to @NevermoreBlack who commented the theory that Loki had captured all of the other slaves-- it was a really good theory, and honestly I would have used it if I didnt have plans for the remaining chapters :) 
> 
> Please comment and let me know what you think/ your reactions!


	36. The Other Master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a clarification, it seems as though there was some confusion regarding the last chapter. In Peter's POV when he mentioned Natasha, he was saying that they had made a plan with Natasha for when she and Steve came onto midgard (because they wanted to be hidden enough that the masters couldn't find them, but they needed a way for Steve and Natasha to find them). Steve and Natasha escaping a few weeks/months after the others was always part of the plan; this is just saying that they're still expecting that. Natasha is still on Heidrun.

_ Steve _ was the one to wake  _ Bucky _ up the next morning. 

 " _ Master _ ," he whispered, shoving Bucky's shoulders gently. He was on top of him, technically straddling him, although straddling Bucky was like straddling a grizzly bear. "Wake up. Come on, it's time to garden!" 

 Bucky groaned, half rolling over. Steve just barely managed to stay on top of him. "Go back to bed."

 "No, Bucky! Master! Its sunrise, we gotta weed before it gets too hot!" 

 Bucky's eyes were still closed. "Go back to sleep. That's an order; I'll punish you!"

 The threat was weak; Bucky was too tired to punish him. "You don't have to get up," Steve insisted. "Just let me out. I've been weeding for nearly a year, I can do one more morning. Come  _ onnnn. _ "

 Steve jolted when Bucky blindly slapped his ass, but didn't get off. "Bucky!" 

 "So fuckin' needy," Bucky complained, still too tired to do much more than complain and swat at Steve. "I'm gonna gag you. I'm gonna gag you, and I'm gonna bind your arms and I'm gonna make you go the fuck back to sleep, Jesus." 

 "And I'm gonna shoot my brains out," Steve countered. He'd acted in a way he knew Bucky liked, whiny and needy, calling him master and playing his game, but Steve wasn't actually joking. He needed to do his job; he needed to do  _ something. _

 Bucky peaked one eye at Steve and Steve immediately went back on the defensive, nuzzling under his chin. "Buck-yyyyy. Please. I really need this." 

 Finally, Bucky groaned and got up, uncuffing Steve's ankle and shoving him back on the bed, leaning over him. His voice was still deep, husky with sleep. "If I give you this, will you be good for me?"

 "So good," Steve promised, making himself seem as innocent and non-threatening as possible. He wasn't going to try anything, but he needed to make sure  _ Bucky _ knew he wasn't going to try anything. 

 Bucky held his gaze for a few moments before moving back, yanking Steve's pants down. Steve made a noise between a squeal and a moan-- his automatic reaction to anything involving Bucky getting especially personal-- but didn't resist as Bucky fondled him, observing the cock cage in particular. It wasn't necessarily comfortable, but it was subtle enough that Steve could forget he had it on. It, like his rotating varieties of collars, had some sort of interlocking clasp that made it impossible for anyone but Bucky to take off. It was intrusive, and it was staying on until Bucky decided otherwise. 

 "I think this can stay on another day," Bucky decided, before harshly pulling Steve's pants and underwear back up. "Come on. We'll weed, and then I'll get you dressed for Sam."

  
  


\---------------------

  
  


 Steve had never appreciated weeding so much.

 The rising sun was warm but not hot on his neck; the soil was moist, the weeds unresisting; and even though Bucky was weeding just one row down, and Fenris was standing sentry, Steve still felt more free than he had in weeks. Being a laborer was infinitely better than being a prisoner. 

 Afterwards, they did their regular morning routine. Bucky didn't set out any clothes in specific for Steve, but Steve was giving the whole positive reinforcement thing a go so he purposefully wore a tight long sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and panties with no pants. The panties were the least revealing ones he had, but they weren't the boxer briefs he'd normally prefer on days like this. Plus, he wasn't wearing pants. That had to account for something. 

 He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and made a face. The shirt was just barely too tight, making his nipple bars visible through it. Bucky'd like it, so Steve wouldn't change, but he could still be bitter about it. 

 Bucky gave him a semi-interested look once he saw, but then went back to his task. "What can I help with?" Steve asked, leaning against the counter. 

 "Hands," Bucky said without explanation. Steve presented his, and Bucky locked a pair of cuffs around them before going back to mashing. "You can peel the eggs."

 Steve sighed, but at least it was something. The cuffs were completely pointless, just a minor inconvenience, but peeling and then slicing the hard boiled eggs was still better than just watching. Plus, he wasn't leashed. Improvements. 

 They worked in silence. Breakfast that morning would be fluffy Heidrian hotcakes with sliced hard-boiled eggs in a green sauce. It was one of Steve's favorites, but he wasn't very vocal about it so he doubted that was purposeful. They were almost done, with the food just plated when the front door opened. 

 "You know, I almost never see Fenris in the front yard, why is that? Does he just not like it? Is he picky? Because if he takes after you, he's probably all sorts of a primadonna."

 "Hey Sam," Bucky said blandly, ignoring the tirade of words flowing from Sam's mouth. "You can leave your bag on the couch." 

 Sam did so, dumping it without ceremony and striding over. He went into the kitchen first, completely ignoring Steve to give Bucky a hug-- the ignoring Steve was customary, while the hug was a midgardian custom-- before backtracking to Steve, giving him a big kiss on the cheek. He pulled back, but at the same time, he really didn't  _ pull back,  _ resting one hand on Steve's ass and using it to keep him close. He gave Steve a look over, a momentary flash of surprise showing across his face when he saw Steve's chest. "Bucky! You did not tell me he had his nipples done! Are they healed?" 

 "Yeah, for about a month. You can touch them if you want." 

 Sam's grip on Steve tightened, and he slipped his free hand down the neck of Steve's shirt. Steve tried to squirm away, using his cuffed arms to try and block the assault, but Sam held him in place and slid past his defenses like it was the easiest thing in the world. He latched onto one, pinching and rolling it between his forefinger and thumb, and Steve stopped fighting, looking away with a red face. "They're nice," Sam commented, like Bucky had just shown him a new pair of shoes or something cool for his garage. "I was considering getting it done to one of my slaves, but it's a big commitment, you know?" 

 "Yeah. I like them, though." 

 Bucky didn’t look over, didn’t even watch. It made something burn deep and furious in Steve’s gut; he didn’t so much as glance over to make sure Sam was being correct. He worked so hard to make Steve his property, and then wouldn’t even check to make sure he was treated with the respect that entailed.

 Sam finally pulled his hand out, instead using it to reach over his shoulder and steal one of his eggs. Steve snarled at the plate, hoping he wouldn't notice. "So. You guys were about to eat breakfast? I'll join you." 

\--------------------

 After breakfast, Steve went to his room and put on sweatpants over his panties. Bucky may not have cared that Steve was exposed, but Steve sure did, so he put the damn pants on. That didn’t stop Sam from touching him, though; as soon as Steve was within range again, Sam was tugging him over, slinging an arm loosely around Steve’s waist and dipping his fingers in the waistband. Steve allowed himself to stay there, humiliated, for a minute or two until Sam got distracted arguing with Bucky over the values of a colorful wardrobe versus an all-black one, and Steve managed to slip away. He started washing the floor, the routine of it normal and comfortable enough for him to distract himself with it, until he felt something on his ass and looked back. It’s was Sam’s foot, because of course it was. Steve hadn’t wanted to have a good day anyways, so why did he care? That may as well happen. 

 Steve paused, waiting until Bucky was turned around in the kitchen washing plates to hiss at Sam “I’ll bite you.”

 Sam huffed in a bored amusement. “Please do. Maybe when you’re done with the floors, though.”

 Steve was red as he turned away, purposefully moving out of Sam’s reach. He kept his ass down and avoided Sam as much as possible. 

 “So, Bucky, you told me Steve got himself in some trouble yesterday? The stuff with the window?”

 Bucky grunted from the kitchen. “Yeah. What a mess.”

 “What was his punishment?”

 “A cock cage. And yes, he’s still wearing it, and no, you can’t touch it.”

 Sam protested good-naturedly, citing such gems as ‘That’s just cold’ and Man, I thought we were friends!’ before asking how long Steve was going to be made to wear it. 

 “I’m thinking a week,” Bucky admitted, and Steve’s stomach churned in displeasure. “Maybe less if he’s good.” He glanced over and shot Steve a grin that meant  _ maybe more if he’s bad.  _

 Steve went back to scrubbing the floor, almost angrily. He finished it up to the sound of their continued teasing, and when bringing the bucket and rag back to the kitchen, flinched hard when Sam groped him in passing. Still, Bucky said nothing about it, and Sam let go quick enough that the stop hardly impeded his journey. That didn’t mean it didn’t happen, though. 

 Sam was positioned right by the only exit to the kitchen, unless Steve wanted to climb over the counter. That meant another touch was unavoidable. 

 Bucky announced he was going to go get something from his room, and just like that, he was brushing against Steve and then was gone, leaving Steve nothing in the way of protection. Steve managed to hold out a solid ten seconds before giving into the inevitable, and exiting the kitchen, walking past Sam with his entire body clenched in anticipation. But nothing happened, no grabbing, no touching, and Steve had just thought he’d made it past when—

_ SLAP! _

__ Steve stopped in his tracks. His face burned more than his ass did, because even though it was his ass Sam had spanked, it wasn’t  _ that  _ hard. It wasn’t about pain, not even remotely. It was about dominance, touching Steve because he could. The only problem was, he  _ couldn’t.  _

__ Without thinking, Steve whirled around, finding himself face to face with Sam. Sam was just a little taller than him when sitting on the stool, but Steve didn’t care. He’d beat up taller people before. “Back off,” he ordered, quiet in hopes of not alerting Bucky in the other room. “Don’t you dare touch me again, or I swear to God—"

 "Steve!" Bucky reprimanded from behind him. Steve mentally cursed himself for being sloppy, then turned around, ready to defend himself. "He's not my master! You are, so you get to decide who touches me and you never said--"

 "That doesn't give you the right to be rude!" Bucky admonished. He strode forwards, and Steve could already see his hands twitching, desperate to get a hold of him. "If you have a problem with something, you talk to me--" 

 "You were in the other room," Steve explained, bringing his voice down to try and de-escalate the situation. "And he touched me. I didn't like it. Bucky, I thought I was  _ yours _ . Not  _ his _ ."

 Bucky's arm wrapped around his waist, slowly drawing him close. "You are. But that doesn't mean you get to be rude." 

 Steve most definitely disagreed with that sentiment. He opened his mouth to protest again, but before he could Bucky gave him a look and Steve closed his mouth, glowering. This wasn't a fight he'd win. 

 After a few considering moments, Bucky directed Steve to go to his room, following behind after he apologized to Sam and promised they'd be back in a minute. Once in the room, Bucky pressed a few commands into the glass and the wall blacked out, making the room a private space for once. He gestured for Steve to come to him, so Steve did, trying not to drag his feet too much. Then Bucky's arms were around his waist again, fingers picking at Steve's sweatpants. "When'd you put these on?" 

 "Before washing the floor," Steve answered honestly. "Buck, you have it yourself, Sam's a  _ guest.  _ I'm not gonna just--"

 " _ You're  _ not gonna?" Bucky repeated. "Baby, since when was that your choice? You get to choose your casual clothes, to an extent, but I choose your social clothes. What you were wearing earlier was fine, so I didn't instruct you to change." 

 Steve stared at him for a few seconds, wondering if he was really going to make him do this. Bucky didn't relent, so Steve stepped back and dropped his pants. Fine. 

 "Now, let's get back to the actual problem here. Stevie, what made you think you could speak that way to Sam?"

 "He's always casual with me," Steve snarked, "I thought I'd return the favor." 

 "You're not equals," Bucky reminded. He started walking forwards, forcing Steve to walk back until his back hit the wall. Bucky bracketed him in with his elbows, but didn't touch him. "What am I gonna do with you, Stevie? Do I gotta put you in your place?"  

 "I know my place," Steve defended, tilting his chin up and waiting until Bucky met his eyes to continue. "It's right here." 

 When Bucky eventually breathed out, it was slow, hot on Steve's face. "You're going to do better," Bucky declared, more decisive now. "You're going to listen to me, and make it up to Sam. You're not going to be rude. And, the next time Sam wants to touch you, you let him, alright? If you've got a problem with that, you report to me." 

  
  


\------------------------

  
  


 Sam stood when they came out, and Steve realized, maybe for the first time, that he was a few inches taller than Bucky. He waited as Steve approached, unmoving even as Steve ducked his head and said "I'm sorry, sir. I spoke out of turn." 

 "You did," Sam agreed. Another thing masters did: they never just accepted an apology. Entitled pricks. "How to plan to make up for it?" 

 Steve felt a hand on his shoulder and he sank to his knees obediently. Immediately there was a prodding at his mouth and he opened, accepting Sam's fingers and sucking on them. It was probably something his pleasure slaves did for him without question, but Steve was still a fucking labor slave. He and Bucky only had sex when he consented; so sucking on fingers was not in his job description. He'd do it when he had to, but no more than that. 

 "Are you going to punish him?" Sam asked Bucky, conversing over Steve's head. Bucky's hand was on Steve's shoulder-- part domineering, but also probably just in case Steve tried to bite Sam's fingers off. 

 "No. I corrected his behavior, made him apologize, and am keeping an eye on him. If he makes another mistake, then clearly the message didn't get through; that's when I'll punish him."

 "You've thought this through."

 "Well, I had a good teacher." 

 Steve didn't have to look up to know that Sam was grinning above him. He gagged slightly as Sam forced his fingers as far back as possible. 

 "Don't tell me you ever watched my videos."

 "I watch them all the time," Bucky insisted. "I'm pretty sure I binged every training one you had before getting Stevie. You're the entire reason he turned out this good." 

_ Oh, just make out already.  _

__ "You flatter me."

 "It's well-deserved. I… you're my best friend, Sammy. I know we haven't spent much time together lately, but… I don't know. I was hoping that'd change." 

 "Aww, me too. Come 'ere, I wanna do that Midgardian thing and hug you."

 Sam took his fingers out of Steve's mouth and stepped forwards to hug Bucky. It was probably an exceptionally cute moment, except Steve was still on his knees and had to twist to the side to avoid getting a face full of crotch. 

  
  


\----------------------

  
  


 Sam seemed to like Steve more after that. He still had no idea what personal space was, but the few times he grabbed for Steve to press him against him, his hands didn't even wander that much. Steve learned that if he just let it happen, Sam let him go again pretty quickly. 

 Sam did seem pretty curious about their routine, so they tried to let them in on the Magical World Of Social Anxiety and Minor Agoraphobia. After lunch, Bucky put on a movie and the two men settled down on the couch. Steve was pretty sure he was about to enter a losing fight, but he'd seen the movie Bucky put on before and it was a personal favorite, so he wasn't just going to do something else. Sighing, he gave in, trotting over to the couch and making moves to sit with Bucky.

 "Hey, Steve. Why don't you sit with me this time?" Sam suggested from where he was sprawled.

 Steve stayed where he was standing, mentally weighing the values of getting punished for disobeying versus getting molested while watching a favorite movie. He decided, as hard as it was to admit it, that he wasn't in the mood to get punished, and went to Sam's side. 

 "Wait right there," Sam commanded, getting up and rushing to his bag. Steve gave Bucky his best  _ if he rapes me on this couch and you do nothing about it I swear to God  _ expression before Sam was coming back, a few toiletry-looking bottles in his hand. "Peter used to  _ love  _ this." 

 According to Sam, Peter also used to love non-con spitroasting, but whatever. Sam got back into a more confined sprawl, and positioned Steve to not sit on top of him, but lean against Bucky's legs. He tucked his feet in the couch cushions so they weren't in Sam's way, and Bucky turned on the movie. 

 Sam got himself settled before reaching down and taking one of Steve's feet in his hands. Then, like a fucking crazy person, he dumped some scented lotion onto it and started  _ massaging. _

_  So this is how I die.  _

__ The weirdest, most uncomfortable thing about the entire situation? Sam was  _ good  _ at it. He was a professional quality masseuse, working the muscles in Steve's feet like he was personally going to see to each one relaxing. Steve's feet had definitely changed in the last year or so-- the weird sack-shoes didn't have any soles or arch support-- but Sam didn't seem put off. He kept massaging for maybe ten minutes, then switched to the other foot. 

 Steve didn't moan, because he had fucking standards, but it was really nice. Sam didn't just massage his feet-- he massaged in between his toes, and on the back of his heels, up his ankles and calves. When he finished both feet, Steve expected him to stop, but he didn't. Instead he manhandled Steve to turn around, kneeling with his chin resting on Bucky's knees as Sam started in on a shoulder massage. 

 Steve made eye contact with Bucky, who was very clearly not watching the movie.  _ I'm making you learn how to do this,  _ Steve mouthed. Bucky affectionately flicked his nose.

 Steve was so loose and relaxed that when Sam pulled him fully into his lap, he didn't even consider resisting. Sam wrapped around him like an octopus, which was something Bucky did, but not to that extent. With Bucky, it was more of weighing him down, pressing him close. It was comforting, easy to drift in. But with Sam, it was like he was trying to make it so Steve could focus on nothing else. It was really no wonder that Peter worked so hard at perfecting the 'boyfriend experience'; Sam clearly wanted to be the center of attention, someone's entire world. In public he was subtle about it, but right now he couldn't be more obvious. 

 Then Steve was distracted, once more, by Sam's hands. Not on his feet or shoulders this time, but in his hair. They were doused in some kind of conditioner that he worked deep into Steve's roots, pulling a moan out of deep in Steve's gut. Bucky raised an eyebrow at him and Steve flipped him off as subtly as possible. The feeling was  _ amazing.  _ Sam could do whatever the hell he wanted, as long as he didn't stop doing  _ that.  _

__ Sam chuckled lowly. "I think he likes it. You ever do aftercare stuff like this with him?" 

 "Not really. I mean, we cuddle, and I'll give him lotion after a spanking, but that's pretty much it." 

 "You can have my hair stuff. I'll get more when…" the sentence dropped off, Sam choosing not to say  _ when I get my slaves back.  _

 "Yeah," Bucky said gently. "Thanks." 

 Steve moaned again, mostly just to distract them. Sure enough it worked, and Sam put his energy back into massaging him. 

  
  


\-------------------------

  
  


 Later that afternoon, Steve asked to go outside. Normally he wouldn't have to ask, would just tell Bucky and go, but things were different now. Bucky sighed and asked Steve where outside he wanted to go so Bucky could leash him. 

 "Leash him?" Sam repeated from the kitchen, a full bottle of juice in his hand. "Why? I thought you let him walk on his own outside." 

 "I did," Bucky said, not rudely but definitely with a bit of an edge. "And then your slaves escaped." 

 "And then he broke a window in his desperation to get outside," Sam countered. "And he didn't even run. Come on, Bucky, he's not going anywhere."

 "I'm not," Steve promised. "Tell me when you want me back inside and I'll be there." 

 Bucky chewed on his lower lip for a few moments before giving in with a "Fine. We'll try half an hour. And if you're not back in time, next time I'm leashing you to Fenris. I know how much you'd love that." 

 "Half an hour," Steve promised. He would've done without the threat, but it was fine. As long as he was getting outside. 

\----------------------

 It was strange that Sam had stuck up for him, but Steve supposed he shouldn't have been so surprised. Sam never tied up his slaves. Unlike Bucky, who did a lot of physical manipulation, most of Sam's manipulation was mental, emotional. Like the scalp massage. Or this. 

 Still, Steve enjoyed his time outside, away from the two dominating presences and all that came with it. Half an hour wasn't long at all, but 29 minutes later Steve was sliding the backdoor open, obedient as ever. Bucky and Sam were both standing, giving each other intense looks, and Steve realized he'd missed something big. 

 "Room," Bucky ordered without looking at him. Steve ducked his head and hurried there quietly. Bucky followed and, once inside, closed the door behind them and blacked out the glass. It was almost a mirror image to earlier in the day when Steve's was chewed out for being rude, but to his knowledge he hadn't done anything bad since. So why were they here?

 Bucky turned to Steve, stared at him for a second, and then without warning announced "Sam wants to fuck you." 

 Steve took a step back in surprise. Hell, that'd been fast. "No."

 "He's lonely," Bucky defended. "He says he hasn't had sex in a week and it's starting to have an effect on him. And-- and he's having a rough time. Everything changed for him--"

 "Too bad," Steve interrupted. "That doesn't mean I'm going to bend over and bare all for him! That's ridiculous!"

 Bucky stepped closer. "All of his slaves left and it'll be another six months before he can get more! He's-- he's in  _ denial  _ Steve, he thinks theres still a chance of finding them and things going back to normal, but there's not. I just want to help him. He's my best friend--" 

 "Then you fuck him!" 

 "--and I just want to do something good for him! So if that means sharing my slave--"

 "I'm! Not! A pleasure slave!" Steve announced, shoving Bucky back. "And if you make me do this, you're going to regret it. It'll be the worst sex of his life and I'll never talk to you again, you hear me?"

 "Midgard hears you, you're yelling so loud!" Bucky complained. "Fine! Don't fuck him, see if I care." Steve was about to respond when Bucky shoved him back against the chest of drawers and grabbed his caged cock right through his clothes, making him gaso. "But if you fuck him, this comes off tonight. If you don't, it stays on for two weeks." 

 It took him a moment to get over the initial shock, and then Steve was slapping Bucky's hands away. "I don't give a shit, it can stay on the rest of my life. I'll become celibate. See how you like  _ that _ ." 

 "I can still fuck you with that on," Bucky threatened darkly. 

 "Sam can shove his dick in the pond for all I care. You said you'd let me decide when and if I want sex; well, this is me  _ not  _ consenting. So do with that what you will." 

 Bucky growled and grabbed Steve's wrist, yanking him around and shoving him down on the bed. Steve tried to scramble away, but when their fights became physical like this he really didn't have a chance. He screamed in frustration when Bucky pinned him down, but was quickly muffled when a ball gag was stuck in his mouth, clasped around the back of his head and pulled tight. Bucky crossed his arms in the back, leaning over them uncomfortably. He was sitting on Steve's lower back, his crotch only a few inches from Steve's ass. "You don't want Sam, how about I fuck you instead? Tie you up and do what I want. I could, you know. I should." 

 Steve made noises into the gag, something along the lines of  _ do it, you won't.  _ He didn't actually that much if Bucky did, as long as he actually stretched Steve adequately, but he didn't want Sam getting anywhere near him. He could handle having forceful sex with Bucky; he couldn't handle being raped by the same man who raped his friends. 

 Cuffs were locked on Steve's wrists, keeping them crossed and high on Steve's back. He put up the token struggling as Bucky ripped his panties down, forcing Steve to bend at the knees. He flushed, well aware of how exposed he was, but it wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. Bucky dressed him, for fucks sake. This was no different. 

 "I'm not fucking you," Bucky growled, "And neither is Sam. But you need to learn to check your tone. I didn't punish you for lashing out earlier, so now I am. Relax." 

 Steve made a squeaking noise into the gag when he felt something cold and wet against his hole. Bucky rubbed the lube around before inserting a finger, making Steve howl indignantly. Bucky was rough, cruel almost, going up to two fingers and then three just barely too quickly, enough that Steve could feel the stretch and he had to bite down on the gag to avoid making anymore embarrassing noises. 

 Finally, Bucky's fingers retreated, and Steve was left gaping and empty, open for all the world to see. It was almost a relief then, to feel something pressing in-- the buttplug, too hard and plastic to pass as Bucky's dick, and much too small. Bucky pushed it into the base, then placed a slap over it, making Steve jolt and squeal. Then there was fabric being pulled up Steve's legs, sweatpants, not underwear, and Bucky was uncuffing him. 

 Steve needed to play this right. In the list of things he didn't want, sex with Sam was in the top five. Which meant that Steve had to compromise a little, bend where he previously would be unwilling to, to make sure that sentiment was secured. 

 Bucky took Steve's ballgag out and before he could say anything, Steve was kissing him. Bucky was taken by surprise, at first, but then kissed back, gripping the back of Steve's hair so tightly it almost hurt. "Thank you," Steve whispered into his mouth. "I know you'd never make me do that. Thank you. So good to me. Thank you." 

 "Hey, we made an agreement," Bucky said, like he hadn't been considering going back on that agreement just ten seconds before. "I didn't want to force you to do anything you didn't want to. Love you so much, baby boy."

 Steve kissed him back, wincing a little when the plug shifted uncomfortably inside of him. Yeah, that'd be annoying. 

 Still better than Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter:  
> \- Steve got Bucky to (finally) let him outside  
> \- Sam came over (+breakfast scene)  
> \- Sam :) Being :) A Creep :)  
> \- Sam and Bucky having their emotional Bro(TM) moment  
> \- Couch Aftercare  
> \- Sam convincing Bucky to let Steve outside  
> \- Bucky trying to convince Steve to let Sam inside (I'm so sorry I couldn't help myself)
> 
> Fun stuff! As per usual, please comment your thoughts. This story will be ending soonish, and in the next chapter we'll be checking in with Natasha :D


	37. The Green Pill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Much! Happens! In this chapter! If you’re one of the perfect, amazing people who leaves long comments, I’d highly recommend writing them in a separate app as you go, bc SO MUCH SHIT GOES DOWN. Thanks :)

 Steve’s sketchbook sat against his knees, though he couldn’t decide what he wanted to draw. It was hard to focus. He was sitting on the couch, leashed, with his cock just barely hard in its cage, and his ass uncomfortably filled with the plug.

 There was another reason it was hard to focus: about thirty minutes prior, Bucky and Sam had both gone into Bucky’s bedroom and closed the door behind them. Based on the increasingly-frequent moans, they were either fucking, or Bucky was sitting with Sam while he had a masturabatory experience worthy of an Oscar. All of the moans were Sam’s, probably because Bucky always moaned too quiet to hear through the door, but if Steve was counting correctly, Sam had already orgasmed once and was still going.

 Sam had _seven_ pleasure slaves. This could take a while.

 Steve pointedly focused on his sketchbook and didn’t imagine what they looked like together.

 A little while later, Bucky woke Steve up from his stupor when he unclasped the leash and helped Steve up. Bucky was completely naked, his obscene cock flaccid and looking strangely different from what Steve was used to seeing after they’d fucked. Steve didn’t have time to think about it though, because then they entered the room and wow, Sam was also _completely fucking naked,_ snoring lightly on Steve’s side of the bed.

 Bucky lead Steve to the floor by the bed, where some blankets and a pillow had been laid out. Normally Steve would be annoyed, but he was too thankful that he wasn’t going to be stuck sleeping in between the two of them to be pissy. Bucky helped him get settled, attached his leash to the bedpost, and kissed him once with open mouth before slowly standing, all of his joints popping. Steve grinned mischievously. “Old man.”

 Bucky kicked him lightly on the side, a twinkle in his eyes. Then he climbed back in bed, Sam immediately cuddling up to his back and spooning him. Steve might’ve been crazy, but it looked to him like Bucky might have… _bottomed._

What a weird fucking day. The weirdest. Steve was going to go to sleep and repress the lot of it.

  


——————————

  


 The next morning, Steve’s entire ass ached, and his dick was not having the best time either. He laid awake for a little while devising a plan before Bucky woke and brought him outside to weed.

 It was shockingly easy to get Bucky to fuck him up against the house, which solved the problem of both the plug and the cage. Steve hadn’t accounted for the fact that getting fucked by Bucky was _exhausting,_ but luckily Bucky gave him the morning off and cuddled him on the couch while he regaining clarity of mind.

 “Oh, nice,” Sam commented sleepily a few minutes later. “Looks like he wanted it after all.”

 Bucky rubbed up and down Steve’s back, so good Steve didn’t give a shit about what they had to say. “Yeah. I think the plug made him horny.”

 “Probably. Hey, what’s for breakfast? I’m starving.”

 “Whatever you want to cook; unlike _some_ people, we don’t have a staff attending to our every need.”

 “Oh yeah? Then what do you call that thing sleeping in your lap?”

 “I call him Stevie,” Bucky answered, purposefully misinterpreting the question. “And we divide up responsibilities. Which means that, as a freeloader in this house, it’s your turn to make breakfast.”

 “I haven’t cooked in literal _years._ ”

 “Don’t burn down my kitchen.”

 Bucky’s hand had stopped moving, and Steve didn’t like it. He whined, and Bucky looked confused for a moment before resuming his petting.

 Somewhere in the kitchen, Sam chuckled. “He’s got you wrapped around his finger. You know that, right?”

 “Don’t I. Hey, no, you don’t use that pan for eggs.”

 “What? It’s the only pan I can find.”

 “No, it’s— that’s not a pan, first of all, it’s a pot. You want a pan, like, one of the flat ones.”

 “What? Oh, come on, this is too hard. You should just do it.”

 “Suck it up, you big baby.”

 “Ow! My feelings, they hurt! Kiss it and make it better.”

 “If you come over here, I will.”

 Steve blinked his eyes open just in time to see Sam pad over, looking too pleased with himself. He bent over the couch and he and Bucky kissed, like old married’s or something. Sam gave Steve a considering look, and then dug his fingers in his hair and bent to kiss him too. Steve accepted it, kissing back and deciding it wasn’t bad before he registered the taste. “Oh, that’s nasty!”

 “Eau de bedbreath,” Sam bragged, going back to the kitchen. “I don’t brush my teeth until after breakfast.”

 “That’s horrible!” Steve complained before he could think better. “I can’t believe Peter had to suffer from that every morning.”

 Instantly, the mood dropped. Steve winced, realizing his mistake too late.

 They were all silent for a moment before Bucky slapped Steve on the thigh. “Dumbass. He was doing so well, too.”

 Sam sighed longly. “It’s— I’m fine. We’ll find them, I’m just biding my time until we do. It’s not a big deal. It’s… character development. I should learn how to cook, you know? Just… as a skill. It could be a hobby, now that I’m not making videos.” He winced. “I mean, now that I’m on hiatus.”

 “Jesus Christ,” Steve muttered.

 “You could still make videos,” Bucky suggested, ignoring Steve. “Talk about how things have changed. I’m sure people’d be really interested to see.”

 “Yeah,” Sam said, like he only half believed Bucky. “Yeah, I’ll… talk about my recovery process. The trauma, my withdrawals, um… I’ll go over to Valkyrie, we can talk about separation depression. Yeah, I’ll do that. I’ll text her now, do you want to come? I haven’t seen Valkyrie in forever— almost a week now, damn. You could drive.”

 Steve watched as Bucky shook his head, his face serious and stoney. “I can’t. I’ve got… plans.”

 That was bullshit, and luckily Sam caught on too. “Plans? You mean rewatching the same movies and not leaving your house? When was the last time I went outside?”

 “Like, ten minutes ago.”

 “No, not— outside like _outside!_ Outside of your farm, man! Into town, to a friends house… _anything?_ ”

 Bucky scowled, working his jaw. “Tuesday.”

 That was 1000% a lie; Bucky hadn’t left the property since Friday, and that was only for therapy.

 Sam’s eyes narrowed on Steve. “Is he telling the truth?”

 Suddenly, Steve was caught in between a rock and a hard place. He didn’t want to go to Valkyries house for Sam’s stupid video, and he didn’t want to upset Bucky, but he also didn’t want to try to deal with Sam’s wrath. “Um, Tuesday? I think I was in a coma that day. Sorry.”

 Sam rolled his eyes. “Right. Buck, you’re my friend. Leave your damn farm.”

 Bucky waved him away. “I was already planning on it. Steve and I are going to the Dora’s shop today.”

 Steve perked up; that was news to him. What were they going for? They hadn’t talked about another tattoo, or a piercing. Steve hoped it had nothing to do with his nipples— he felt like he’d just barely gotten used to the feeling of having them erect all the time, and those piercings had _hurt._ Steve just wanted to give them a break— preferably for the rest of his life.

 Sam eventually gave in, telling Bucky that he wanted to see the proof of their trip when he got back later. Bucky swore up and down, and then the two of them watched Sam leave.

 After that, Steve got the sincere, baffling pleasure of watching Bucky pretend like they’d gone out. He sat in the grass while Bucky rubbed the soles of their footwear in the soil, purposefully getting them dirty, and then he sat on his bed obedient as ever while Bucky dressed him up like he would if they went out. Steve was put in a loose black shirt before Bucky took out a beige corset and started lacing it up.

 “Aww, Buck,” Steve grumbled. “Do we gotta?”

 In response, Bucky sucked wetly at the back of Steve’s neck until he squealed. He then gave Steve a hickey, just to drive the message home, and as Steve rubbed the sore spot he finished lacing him up. The corset was loose enough that breathing wasn’t an issue, but tight enough that relaxing definitely was. Then, Bucky laced two much smaller corsets around each of Steve’s thighs, from right under his ass to just above his knees. He had Steve pose in front of the bathroom mirror.

 “Do you know what my problem is?” Bucky asked vaguely.

 Yeah, obviously. “You’re a nutjob?”

 Steve was expecting the slap to the ass, so it was more funny than jolting. “My problem… is that I don't accessorize enough. I underestimate accessories."

 "This is not a conversation I ever wanted to have," Steve announced.

 For the final touch, Bucky slid a pair of loose indoor shoes up Steves calves, wrapping ribbon around them in a way that mimicked the corset. It was strange sitting with the corset on because of the way it pushed against his spine, only allowing for perfect posture. It was a little annoying, but not uncomfortable, which Steve appreciated.

 "So," Steve started, when Bucky had moved on to the second shoe. "We're obviously not leaving the house. Is that _just_ because of the agoraphobia?"

 "Outside is too… dramatic right now," Bucky muttered. "Safer to stay in."

 "Safer? Are there, like, riots?"

 "No, but people are… you know how people are."

 "No, I really don't."

 Bucky sighed. "Loki's been loud lately. He's trying to… I don't know. Here, watch this."

 He climbed up on the bed with Steve, holding the side of his confined waist as he handed his phone to Steve, already opened to a video. In it, Loki stood in the center of a room, like one of the parties, except Loki wasn't dressed like he normally did for parties.

 "Are those golden things supposed to be _horns?"_

"Its ceremonial," Bucky explained. "I think. Just watch the video."

 Steve watched. Loki seemed to be making a speech, based on the way everyone watched him appreciatively, the way his voice rose over any whispers. "...We have been going like this for too long. We have been lazy, allowing too many red flags to slide. Slaves should never have been allowed to wander away from their masters' sides; they never should have been allowed to conceal their ownership marks. It is time to push back, and return to old values. Values that kept us safe, values that kept our communities strong. Which is why I suggest to you all--"

 Bucky paused the video, sliding the phone back into his pocket. "Ever since the escape, he's been holding parties and giving lectures on how we need to have more regulations on slaves. And people listen, because he knows about it better than anyone."

 Steve frowned. What about Loki made him a reliable source? There was nothing, nothing except…

 … Except the fact that he had a slave escape. And, except for the fact that our of all the masters and citizen soldiers at the party on the night of the escape, he was the only one who was able to actually do anything. He stopped Nebula; to the other masters, it probably looked like an act of justice.

 It didn't matter that it wasn't. They'd still listen.

 "He's been suggesting more conservative practices," Bucky explained. "And most people are following along. That's why I invited Okoye over; I don't want to leave the house with you, but this needs to be done."

 "What needs to be done?"

 

\---------------------

  


 Okoye set up her materials on the coffee table, complaining to Bucky in a mixture of Russian and English. Meanwhile, Steve couldn't get his eyes off of the tattoo gun. He'd obviously become quite acquainted with it before-- what with the pieces on his back, the geometric wolf heads on his shoulders, the black bands wrapping around his arms-- but this time would be different.

 Steve rubbed the sensitive skin of his neck, stopping when Bucky gave him a look. "This is stupid," Steve decided, without much venom. "I shouldn't need to get this just because Loki thinks so."

 "It's what is expected of you," Bucky chastised. "It's not your choice."

 "I thought all mods were my choice."

 Bucky placed a hand on Steve's shoulder blade, right over where he knew his first tattoo, the claiming one was. "This one was mandatory." His hand slid around, squeezing Steve's neck lightly. "And so is this one. I'll let you chose others, but there are some things you just have to be obedient about."

 Once again, Steve's eyes caught on the needle. "It's just… my _neck."_ He could already feel his heart speed up; he'd never liked needles.

 Bucky, clearly seeing this, looked to Okoye. "Should I hold him down?"

 She pursed her lips. "I'd prefer not. I have a pill; he could take that. He'll be a little drowsy for the rest of the day, but it is effective."

 "That's fine."

 A few minutes later, Steve was in place, a glass of water in one hand and a little green pill in the other. "Explain to me again what you're going to to?"

 Okoye rolled her eyes, but Bucky explained "It's another claiming mark. The problem with the other one is that its covered too easier; at least, that's what Loki is saying. Don't worry, it'll be small. We're putting it right… here."

 His fingers bruised the base of Steve's neck, right where it met with his shoulder. Steve squirmed, but knew better than to pull away.

 "Take his collar off," Okoye instructed.

 "I will. But first, take your pill Stevie."

 Steve swallowed the pill. He remembered, vaguely, that he'd once given a lecture to a bunch of college kids about how to party safely. The tips were pretty general: don't walk away from your daring, only party in groups, don't take any pills or other drugs from strangers.

 Whoops.

 Okoye and Bucky continued talking in a quiet voice, and Steve probably _could_ listen if he tried, but that was just a _lot_ of _work._ Instead, he let himself slump against the couch, slowly sliding down until his head was nestled on the armrest.

 "I think he's ready. Stevie, how do you feel?"

 Steve blinked hard a few times, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from, preferably without moving his head. Then Bucky came into view, hair dangling down around his face.

 Steve pouted, making duck lips. Apparently, Bucky got the message, because then he was kissing him into satisfaction. There was the feeling of cold skin against his neck, and then Steve's collar was removed. That was… important. Steve was supposed to… to want it off. And now that it was off, he was supposed to, supposed to…

 "I need you to hold him in position. The actual inkwork should take around half an hour to an hour, but he needs to be very still."

 "Understood."

 Steve's rice-sack-body was maneuvered into place, and then Bucky's hands were on him again, his shoulder and hair. Steve moaned a little when he stroked his hair.

 "Shh, baby. We need to hold still so Okoye can work."

 Steve was so still. He was cemented in bedrock. He was a victim of medusa, victim of Pompeii. He'd never moved before in his life and would never move again.

 "Does it make him more prone to suggestion?"

 A chuckle. "You could say that."

 There was a light tickle on his neck, and Steve pushed back the urge to squirm. "Bucky? Am I doing good?"

 "Yes, you are sweetie. Now I want you to stop talking too. Oh, I should have gagged him for this, Okoye, do you want me to--"

 "He's fine like this. Just tell him you don't want him to talk."

 Bucky didn't need to repeat the order; Steve's lips were already sealed.

 He floated. There were the sensations in the real world-- tight chest, tickling neck, warm hands-- and then the sensations in his own special world. It was like existing on two planes. On one plane, he was holding still, following his master's instructions to the best of his ability. If his master told him to stop breathing, he'd probably listen.

 But there was another plane. And in that plane, Steve was facing the other direction, watching the front door open. "Mister Barnes, I'm here for the appointment."

 The man was familiar, but unfamiliar too. Medium height and in good shape, but lean instead of bulky. He was also blond.

 "That's great," Bucky said from the other side of the couch. "Go ahead. I'm just going to go outside and give you your privacy."

 "Thank you, I'd appreciate that." Then Bucky was gone, like he'd combusted into atoms to give them optimal privacy, and the man came over to Steve. He was handsome, by both traditional standards and Steve's standards. His nose was a little knobby from being broken, his expression a little guarded from long-periods of lying, and his fingers were calloused. Calloused. Calloused.

 "Steve?"

 Calloused from holding a bow.

 Steve was sitting on the couch. The man was right in front of him, reaching out to touch his cheek.

 Steve closed his eyes, pursed his lips. He wasn't crying. He _wasn't._ "Clint?"

 "Yeah. Yeah, it's me. What's a guy like you doing at a place like this?"

 Steve burst out, laughing wetly. That was what Clint always said when they met up. What he _had_ always said.

 “Photosynthesizing,” Steve answered. It was funny, even though the windows were too far away to get direct sunlight. “Clint, why are you here?”

 “Aw, don’t you know? I’m here to rescue you.”

 “You’re here to rescue me,” Steve repeated, smiling dreamily. “Here to rescue me. Wow. No, I know you’re not.”

 Clint’s hand brushed along Steve’s cheekbone, and he leaned into it like a cat. “No, you’re right, I’m not. Just wanted to see you.”

 “I’m glad you came. I missed you.”

 Clint hummed, still rubbing Steve’s cheekbone with his thumb. “Have you heard any word from Tasha? Do you know where she is?”

 Steve frowned. “Um, not for a week or two. I think she got a new master, so she’s probably busy getting her ass kicked right now. I wish I could tell you more.”

 “It’s okay. I’ll find her.”

 “You could be her knight in shining armor.”

 Clint snorted. “If _you_ didn’t want to be saved, what do you think she’ll say?”

 Steve grinned.

—————————

  


 “Alright, and we are done.”

 Steve reopened his eyes to a dull world. Bucky was above him, petting his hair, and Okoye was to the side, preparing her equipment.

 Steve tried to sit up, but Bucky held him down, shushing him gently. “No, stay there for a minute. You were really out of it, I don’t want you to faint.”

 Steve frowned. “I’m fine. When are we going to start? If this tattoo is going to hurt—”

 “It’s already done,” Bucky insisted. Steve’s hand automatically went up, finding the edge of a bandage. “It looks really great.”

 “Oh.”

  


——————————

  


 Steve was out of it for the rest of the day. He didn’t have any more hallucinations, but he did take about ten naps. Bucky had mercy on him and removed the corset, though the rest of the outfit stayed.

 At one point, Steve woke up to find himself curled up with his head in Bucky’s lap. Later, he woke up to the sound of Fenris snoring on the floor by his feet. The next time, he found himself laying on top of Sam, and the time after that, he found himself in different clothes, nestled in between Sam and Bucky in bed. He was mostly awake by that point, so he crawled out, doing his best not to disturb either of them, and went to the back door. All of the doors were locked, which sucked, because Steve really wanted to feel the grass, see the moon. He might just suffocate if he was forced to stay inside here.

  Steve went to his bathroom then, peeling back the bandage and looking at his new tattoo. It was on the juncture between his neck and his shoulder, but more on his neck, and it was the same letters that were printed on his back the first day he was here. The only problem? Now he knew what they meant.

  _Property of J.B. Barnes._

When Bucky found him half an hour later, he was sitting in front of the sliding glass doors, banging his head against it. Bucky chuckled and scooped him up, whispering about lowering his dosage next time. Next time.

  _Next time._

  


———————————

  
  


 Steve avoided talking at all costs the next day. He couldn’t deal with a punishment, but he always couldn’t deal with sucking up to Bucky and Sam. He washed the floor. He sat on the couch. He didn’t weed, because he wasn’t allowed to wear a collar again until tomorrow. Apparently, Okoye had used a salve to heal the tattoo faster, but the 36 hour waiting period was still mandatory.

 When Bucky asked him why he was so quiet, he answered that he felt a little sick from the drugs. Bucky let him dress in his loosest, most comfy sweats, and Steve spent the day in his fishbowl.

  


—————————

  


 It was better when Steve could put a collar back on. The collar hid it, mostly. Steve could look in the mirror and see someone familiar again. Sort of.

  


—————————

  


 Steve wore a pair of low-riding sweatpants, a collar, and nothing else.

 They stood in his tiny bathroom. Bucky’s arms were wrapped around him, holding him close as he methodically kissed each individual tattoo. The shoulder one, kiss. “You were so trusting. Barely even knew me, but let me do this.” The armbands, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss. “They still look so good. Love seeing them on you; we should do more.” The wolves on his shoulders, kiss, kiss. “So artistic. You should draw me something, yeah? Maybe I’ll even get a tattoo of it.” The new one, that Bucky had to push his collar up to view, kiss. “It’s beautiful. You’re so good, sweetie. You’re beautiful. I love you so much. You’re perfect. So good, so pretty, so well behaved. I love talking to you. I love your temper. There’s no one else I would ever want to spend my life with. The best thing that ever happened to be baby, the _best.”_

  


———————————

  


 Steve was collared, harnessed. He wasn’t gagged, but somewhere in between here and there he’d set his jaw and didn’t plan on opening his mouth again.

 There were _so many people, everywhere._ Were there always this many people? They were at a party, somewhere Steve didn’t really recognize. It wasn’t a huge house, but the living area was big enough to pack with people, so they did.

 “This’ll be really good for you,” Bucky promised as he pushed Steve to kneel between his legs. “I know you get down sometimes when you can’t see your friends.”

 Steve was trying to figure out what he meant, when a flash of red caught his eyes and everything went into sharp focus. Natasha was walking past him, beside another woman with maple syrup hair. They sat opposite of Steve and Bucky, with Natasha kneeling beside her.

 Steve’s head hurt _so damn much,_ but he desperately tried to pull himself out of his fog. Natasha was right there. She’d gotten a new master because Valkyrie wasn’t allowed to own slaves for the next six— now five— months.

 How many weeks had it been? How long was Steve trapped in that glass box of a house?

 Natasha was muzzled, her muzzle similar in design to the one Bucky was wearing. She wasn’t wearing the over the top makeup Valkyrie used to force her into, and though her jumpsuit and corset drew attention to her bust, it wasn’t as exposing as some of the things Valkyrie’d preferred. It was… fashionable. Reserved, but attractive.

 Steve was liking her new master more and more, until he looked up and processed who it actually was. It was Wanda, looking sweet and normal, but then again, Wanda wasn’t the problem. The problem was Doctor Strange, who immediately joined them, wrapping one arm around Wanda’s shoulders and setting his other hand on Natasha’s neck possessively.

 Steve jerked so abruptly, he hit his head on Bucky’s thigh. “Can I talk to her?”

 He appeared to be frowning behind the mask. “I… don’t know. The slaves aren’t allowed separate quarters anymore. Loki says that that’s one of the problems that allowed the big escape to happen.”

 As if summoned by his name, Loki whirled into view. He too, was wearing a corset— oh fucking hell, was Loki the one who made corsets a thing? Was this the new fashion? Fuck everything— and he stood with a sense of confidence and pride that he previously didn’t have. “No, we certainly don’t want any of that sort of thing happening. But your slaves can fraternize in the corner, if needed. I’m sure none of us would mind that, would we?”

 Immediately, the general crowd, whoever was paying attention really, piped up in agreement. Steve gave Bucky a pleading look, and he sighed and agreed. Steve kissed his thigh before pushing himself to his feet, moving over to where Loki directed him. The corner was padded and out of the way, but still visible for anyone to watch.

 He turned at the feel of a hand on his shoulder, and just like that, he was standing face to face with Natasha. Her mask had been removed, and she was the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen. “ _Tasha.”_

Then they were kissing. Steve wrapped his arms around her, holding as tightly as humanly possible. They ignored the jeers around them, and when Natasha pushed, the toppled over into the mass of pillows, still connected.

 Steve pulled back, holding her face in his hands. “Nat. Strange—?”

 “It’s fine,” she whispered, too quiet for anyone else to hear. “I’m dealing with it. Steve, I haven’t seen you in weeks. I worried that—”

 “I’m fine, it’s fine,” he assured immediately. “Bucky had a relapse of agoraphobia. It’s amazing that he dragged himself far enough out of the house just to get here. We’re probably still leaving in like, fifteen minutes.”

 “He didn’t let you go into town?”

 “Nat, he didn’t even let me go _outside._ I had to break a window to show him I meant business.”

 Natasha curled her arm around him, pulling them closer. It was an intimate position, something lovers would do, but it wasn’t sexual. Romantic, maybe, in the way that everyone is romantic with their friends. Shit, Bucky better not get possessive about this.

 “ _Steve,_ ” Natasha chastised, “A window? So you haven’t been following the plan? Steve, you need to be good otherwise—”

 “I’ve been good!” Steve insisted. “You have no idea what it’s been like for me! Sam’s been living with us, and I have to work every hour just to keep from biting his fucking head off—”

 “Sam’s been living with you?!”

 “Isn’t that what I just fucking said? God, you’re always like this, I’ve never met a more judgemental person in my entire—”

 Natasha shut him up with her mouth, kissing her hard and mean and rolling them over so she hovered on top of him. “We don’t have much time,” she reminded him. “The plan.”

 “The plan,” Steve agreed. The plan; right. Right. That. “What’s the plan?”

 Natasha rolled her eyes. “The _plan_ is to be as good as we can be so they’ll be less strict with us. Then, we each find a way to get out, and we meet up on the road before getting to the portal.”

 “The portal, right. Do you have enough money?”

 “I do. Do you?”

 “Yeah, Yeah. And… I’ll write the note…”

 “And we’ll improvise the rest. But Steve, first we need to get out of the house. First, you need him to trust you—”

 “He does, he will! I’ll be better, I swear—”

 Natasha dropped on top of him, apparently deciding to change positions. They couldn’t seem like they were doing something bad, but at the same time, this may be the only time they got to talk about the plan. Natasha kissed his neck as she whispered “Good. And, by the way, I figured out the issue with the collars.”

 “You mean how we’ll avoid getting our tits electrocuted? Because let me tell you, mine have metal in them now, so I’d really like to avoid—”

 Natasha frowned. “You’re nipples are pierced? Since when?”

 Steve blinked rapidly. “The Hell? They’ve been pierced for like, months. We really need to talk more.”

 “Agreed. Now back to the point.”

 “Right.” Steve rolled over, pinning her down this time to better conceal her mouth. “How do we avoid getting shocked if we try to run?”

 “One word: harnesses.” For the first time that night, Natasha grinned at Steve, her old _I’m about to cut someone into pieces and eat them for dinner_ grin. “If you wear a harness with a collar attachment, you aren’t able to wear another collar on top of it. The harness collars don’t have the tracking features.”

 Steve frowned. “Is this like when you told me collars without metal attachments didn’t shock? Because you don’t exactly have a good track record when it comes to this.”

 She scowled so hard Steve almost guarded his balls on principle. “No, this isn’t like that. I have better information now. I also disassembled a normal collar and compared it to a harness collar. This is real— the harness collars are just leather. _This_ is our escape.”

 Steve stared at her, gobsmacked. “I could kiss you.”

 In response, Natasha grabbed the back of his head and pulled him into a kiss. “God, I missed your stupid ass. We’re getting out of here, alright?”

 “Right.”

 Natasha pulled back just enough to see Steve’s face. “We’re _both_ getting out of here. Both of us. You’re not backing out on me, understand? Don’t pretend I don’t know how you get. I don’t care what it takes, we’re both getting out. Whatever it takes.”

 Steve swooped down, kissing her again. “Whatever it takes.”

 He could hear Bucky’s boots on the floor, louder and more familiar than anyone else’s footsteps. They resonated through Steve’s spine, and he cringed, grabbing onto Natasha in handfuls, not willing to let go. “When are we doing this?”

 “Four weeks,” she promised. “Four weeks. We’ll meet at sunset. Steve, until then, I’m serious, do whatever he wants. You know what Peter would tell you. If you make him love you—”

 “He already loves me.”

 “Then _love him back.”_

Steve didn’t have the chance to reply before the footsteps stopped, right behind him. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable, but then… it didn’t come. Bucky walked away.

 Steve turned around, not believing it. Bucky was… going to get a drink. He was allowing Steve this.

 Steve nestled his face in Nastahas neck. “I missed you so much. I… Tasha… _so much._ I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, I fucked up, you never deserved to be here—”

 “Hey, hey, hey,” Natasha whispered, brushing his hair back. “It’s okay. It was no one’s fault. I couldn’t stop it either.”

 “I… I had a dream, the other day. About Clint.” Steve swallowed. “He said he wanted to save us.”

 “Oh, Steven Grant Rogers, you— that’d be nice, but this isn’t something Clint can fix. This has to be something we do, you know? This has to be ours.”

 Steve nodded into her neck. He still hadn’t let go. He wasn’t going to let go. Never again. “I know.”

——————————

  
  


 Steve slept in between Sam and Bucky that night, with his face to Bucky’s chest and his ass to Sam’s crotch. He was thankful for their presence, for once. They held him down, kept him grounded. This was real; this was his life.

 But this was also something he could _fight._

Fighting wasn’t always about throwing punches or harsh words, though that was the type of fighting Steve preferred. It could also be something more delicate, more subtle. Fighting could be a quiet rebellion; the coins stowed away in Steve’s notebook, the Russian in his head. The smile on his lips as he kissed Bucky goodnight.

 This wasn’t a game; this was a _war._ And every war had its casualties.

 So Steve rocked back against Sam’s clothed dick, pressing his face into Bucky’s chest. He’d sacrifice everything. He’d lay all his cards on the table. He would become Bucky’s everything, so then he would know what it felt like to have everything ripped away.

  
 Maybe this was a game after all. If so, then Steve was playing to _win_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much happened in this chapter!  
> \- Bucky and Sam literally fucked (and to think, Steve was joking when he said 'Why don’t you fuck him?')  
> \- Steve and Bucky fucked (a guys gotta do what a guys gotta do)  
> \- Breakfast conversation (A.K.A. Sam is a grown man who doesn’t know how to cook, Sam kisses everyone and then gets pissy when Steve mentions Peter, drama drama  
> \- Bucky is an agoraphobic little liar (AKA he sets it up to look like he left the house when he really, really didn’t)  
> \- Steve gets the new tattoo (and hallucinates Clint)  
> \- Steve Is Depressed (I would be too)  
> \- Natasha Saves Everything 
> 
>  
> 
> Okay *claps*! This is extremely important— if you have any questions about anything that happened/is happening please, please let me know! I really don’t want anyone to be confused going forwards. I also understand that this may be hard because this chapter was *everywhere*. It started out with Bucky and Sam having sex and that was the most normal thing that happened. So! Please! Comment! I’ll happily answer any questions :)
> 
> (Also, lets not forget the time-old question of: Loki, what the fuck?)


	38. The Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a 3D rendering of what I imagine Steve and Bucky's house to be like. It can be found here: https://youtu.be/fd_FJ2wMdVc

**Bucky**

 Bucky wasn’t sure if he’d ever been happier. 

 The sun was out, bright and warm without being oppressive. In the background, the geese squabled happily, in the midground, Sam used a scooper toy to play fetch with Fenris, and in the foreground, Bucky lazed on a picnic blanket. He had Valkyrie to one side, lounging with her sunglasses on, and Steve on the other, watching Sam and Fenris with a look of intense concern. Of course, the look may not have been directed at them at all; Bucky’d put him in the restrictive cock cage again, just as a precaution. Okay, it wasn’t  _ actually  _ a precaution, Bucky knew Steve wasn’t going to try anything. It was… a training mechanism. Subtle bondage. Whatever. 

 Steve squirmed unhappily, and Bucky sighed and pulled him into his lap, taking care to let Steve’s knees stay bent the preferred amount. He pushed away some of the hair by Steve’s ear, making kissy noises by it. “Hey, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”

 Steve had always been incredibly expressive. Bucky watched his expression shift from grumpiness to annoyance to irritation to subdued. Steve sighed, relaxing against Bucky’s chest. “Nothing.”

 Bucky nipped at his ear, liking how it made him squirm even more. “Nothing?”

 “The fucking— dog,” Steve complained. “I’m annoyed at Fenris.” 

 Bucky laughed, leaning back on one arm. “You’re always annoyed at Fenris.”

 “I— ugh. Shut up. Com’ere.”

 Bucky willingly let Steve pull him in, kissing him lightly before pulling back to lean against him again. Bucky let out an exhale of his own. He loved Steve like this— easy and light and willing. He’d actually been  _ playful  _ the past few days, and Bucky genuinely believed that the only reason he wasn’t now was because of Fenris. And, honestly, that was fine. Bucky could forgive Steve his hostility towards his puppy, no matter how unwarranted. 

 “Gross,” Valkyrie whined to Bucky’s side. With the sunglasses covering her eyes, Bucky hadn’t been sure if she was awake or not. “No PDA. Hear that Steve? No PDA, or I’m shoving a steak down your pants and throwing you to the literal wolf.”

 Steve, to his credit, didn’t react. He really was good. He wasn’t aggressive, or spiteful, or careless, didn’t say anything to offend Valkyrie. He was just calm, pleasant to be around, and happy to be outside. God, Bucky loved him.

  
  
  


**Steve**

“Hear that Steve? No PDA, or I’m shoving a steak down your pants and throwing you to the literal wolf.”

_ You’d have to catch me first, bitch, and we both know that while I can’t get away with hurting Bucky, I can sure as hell gauge out your eyes and throw you into the pond to be slowly devoured by the geese— _

__ “Steve?”

 Steve leaned back, trying his best to focus his entire physical energy on Bucky. It was exhausting, but it worked wonders. “Hmm?” 

 “Just wanted to thank you for being so good lately. You’re so pleasant and—”  _ ha, right  _ “—and I’m really thankful for you. This whole thing with the slave escape has really freaked me out lately, and you’ve really comforted me. So, thank you.”

 Steve hummed contentedly, and then, just to piss off Valkyrie, turned around enough to kiss the underside of Bucky’s jaw. “‘Course. I just wanna be good for you.”

 In the background, Valkyrie made gagging noises and Steve tried not to grin. 

 His good mood was thoroughly ruined by Sam jogging over, the hellhound by his side. Fenris took one look at Steve, sitting within consumption distance, and bounded over, completely dodging Steve’s attempted kick to the face. He snoffled at Steve's unprotected stomach, and then lower. Steve tried desperately to kick him again, but Bucky grabbed onto his legs, forcing him into stillness. "Hey, no. He doesn't wanna hurt you, see? You don't gotta be so mean." 

 Fenris nuzzled at Steve's crotch, and he made an embarrassing noise, struggling against Bucky. He was supposed to be good, he knew that, but he couldn't just--

 "Bucky," Steve whispered, so pathetic even Sam looked up. "Bucky. Bucky please, Bucky--" he swallowed. "Master. Please--" 

 "Jesus, Stevie," Bucky muttered, gently pushing Fenris away. Steve almost sobbed in relief. 

 Bucky pushed Steve's legs to one side, closing them and allowing Steve to put himself in a much more defensible position against the beast. But, just as Steve thought Bucky was going to let him curl up and move on, Bucky was sitting up more, grabbing Steve's face. "Come're babycakes, come on. Come'on. We're going to show lil Stevie that you don't want to hurt him, alright? Come'ere." 

 Steve was stuck in the purgatory between being forced to stay still and wanting with every bone in his body to  _ fight _ , resulting in some awkward trembling as Fenris padded over. Steve squeezed his eyes shut, but he still let our a whimper when he felt the tongue on his face, lapping at his skin. 

 "See?" Bucky said, like something was just proved. "He doesn't want to hurt you, baby. He likes you." 

 "He likes him a lot, apparently," Sam observed. "Have you ever thought about getting a female dog? They could have puppies." 

 "I've thought about it," Bucky admitted. Steve buried his face in Bucky's shirt, trying to pass it off as shyness as he worked to regain his composure. "Before, it felt wrong. We were both bachelors, to get him a partner when I didn't have one just felt wrong. But now… I guess I could. What do you think, sweetheart?" 

 He prodded at Steve's face, trying to get him to stop hiding. Steve thought that it was pretty clear what he thought about getting more dogs, but he kept those thoughts to himself. Bucky poked at his face a little, trying to get him to uncurl, and Steve nipped at his finger instead, prompting a chuckle. 

 "You could keep the puppies in one of the stalls in the barn," Valkyrie suggested. "While they're still growing up."

 Sam let out a groan. "Oh man, those stalls. I get that they're for animals, but I wish that I'd had the chance to film a scene in there. Just imagine Peter crawling around in the hay, begging for someone to come in and--"

 "Ow!" Steve yelped, grabbing his stomach. Bucky's hand were on him in a second, bracing him, holding him. 

 "What is it? Are you okay, did the cage--" 

 "I'm fine, I just-- ow!" 

 "Sam, I need you to go inside and get the first aid kit. Stevie, baby, what's wrong--" 

 "It's my stomach," Steve lied, clutching his stomach and making a face like he was in pain. "It feels-- it-- it's cramps, or something, I just-- I wasn't expecting--" 

 Sam had stood to get the med kit, but now he lingered. "Bucky, it might be a problem with the cage. You should take it off." 

 "Yeah, good idea. Steve, move, I need to get your pants--" 

 Steve's face burned red. " _ Bucky,  _ not outside--" 

 Bucky looked like he really wanted to disagree, but when he saw Steve's face he gave in, scooping him up. "Alright, we'll go inside. Sam, med kit, get on it!" 

 "I'm going, I'm going!" 

 As Bucky ran in to the house, Steve bobbing in his arms all the way, Steve accidentally let his expression relax again right before he caught Valkyrie's eye. She was the only one not moving; probably because she was the only one who knew he was faking. 

 She raised her flask in a salute, then poured it back, not making a move to follow.

  
  


\------------------------

  
  


 Steve's cage was unlocked and he was tucked in bed, a hot water bottle over his stomach. Bucky kept trying to fuss over him, saying they needed to go to the doctors, what if it was another ulcer? But Steve denied him. 

 "I think it was just a cramp," he admitted, trying to make it sound believable. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to ruin the picnic." 

 Yes he did. Yes he did. Yes he did. He wasn't going to sit there and listen to Sam mope over Peter for the twentieth time in an hour, and he especially wasn't going to listen to Sam talk about all of his fantasies regarding Peter and a video camera. Steve had a line. 

 Bucky hummed, climbing in bed beside Steve, though he stayed on top of the covers. “Nah, you didn’t ruin it. You wanna know a secret?”

 Steve smiled a little, snuggling closer into his pillow. “Maybe. Is it nice?”

 Bucky wrinkled his nose comically, making Steve giggle. “Not really. It’s just, I’m almost glad you needed to come inside. I’m not glad you’re hurt, obviously, just… I’m getting tired of Sam’s Peter stories.”

 Somehow, that caused Steve’s grin to widen. “Yeah?”

 “Yeah. He just… all he can think about is what he’s lost. And right now, all I can think about is what I’ve gained…” his eyes fluttered closed when Steve presses his hand to his cheek, a ridiculously affectionate gesture that he just couldn’t help. “Does that make me a bad person?”

 Steve shifted closer, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. He rubbed his thumb along Bucky’s cheekbone. “Maybe. I don’t mind, though.”

 Bucky was the one to lean into the kiss, but Steve wasn’t far off. He held Bucky, and Bucky held him, and Steve appreciated, not for the first time, how nice it was to have Bucky’s mouth warm against his. 

—————————

  
  


 Their routine had shifted to accommodate for Sam, and though Steve tried to conceal it, he couldn’t help being annoyed about it. Sure, Sam had his good qualities— he encouraged Bucky to loosen up on his restrictions for Steve much quicker than if Bucky had been forced to do it by himself— but he was still irritating to be around. It wasn’t just the constant reminders of how Sam had tormented Peter; it was also the constant reminders of Peter  _ in general.  _ Peter, happy. Peter, teasing.

 Peter,  _ gone.  _

__ Steve still didn’t know how far the others had escaped, if they were safe, if they were even still together. But, he made up a fantasy in his mind about what he thought could have happened. They all found a cottage in the forest that they’d moved into. The electricity was free and the water was fresh. Gamora stood in the kitchen, a hand on her belly— in Steve’s head it was the same size as before, though by now it must be notably bigger— as she watched the show. The show, of course, being Peter and MJ, both bare-necked and grinning. Her hand was on his shoulder, his on her waist, and they were both, inexplicably, bedecked in flowers. 

 It was a nice fantasy. It didn’t make the bitterness go away, but it did help some with the guilt. If his fantasy was fraudulent— if they’d died somewhere along the way— then he and Natasha would be the only survivors. 

 He preferred the fantasy. 

 Of course, it was hard to solidify this image of Peter in his mind when Sam  _ wouldn’t shut the fuck up about him.  _

__ Sometimes, it was little comments, ‘Peter would’ve loved this’ and ‘Peter hated that’. Sometimes, it was wistful comments, ‘If Peter were here’ and ‘if Peter had heard that’. But increasingly, it was a new sort of comment that Steve just couldn’t ignore: hopeful. 

 It happened first a few days after Steve’s pretend illness. He’d miraculously recovered, of course, and he and Bucky had just spent the afternoon chasing each other around the pond and caking mud in their hair until Steve laughed so hard he almost peed himself. They’d gone to shower together, all hands and steam and water-kissed lashes. Steve was more relaxed than he’d been in ages. And then they left the bathroom to have dinner with Sam, and Sam dropped the line “When 

Peter gets back, I’m teaching him how to make this.”

 It was like a hundred bees had secretly taken up residence in Steve’s brain, and all of a sudden they all woke up at once, buzzing around and filling Steve’s head with static. Steve felt sick— for real this time. “ _ What?” _

__ “When Peter gets back,” Sam repeated, going slower this time, “I’m going to teach him how to make this. It’s good.”

_ When Peter gets back.  _

__ And it didn’t stop there. He kept going, telling Steve and Bucky about all the scenes he and Peter were going to do together, the names he’d call him, how Sam would hold on to him and not let go for days on end. Sam put the ‘hopeless’ in hopeless romantic, and it made Steve’s stomach churn. 

 Another few days passed, and the harvest began. It was a little early, so the days would be shorter. Steve spent the morning helping pick the ripe vegetables and loading up the truck, and then accepted the kiss on the forehead Bucky gave him without complaint. “I’ll be back in a few hours. I’m… I’m not ready to bring you back into the city, not like this, when I’ll have other things distracting me. But you’ll be good, won’t you? You and Sam can make lunch together?”

 Steve promised, giving Bucky a lingering kiss goodbye. And then it was just him, and Sam. 

 Steve avoided him the best he could. It wasn’t too hard; Sam filmed a video blog in the morning, giving an update on his current mental state, and the filming and editing of that took up until lunchtime. Steve looked himself in the fishbowl for that, knowing he wouldn’t want to hear what Sam was saying. Then, Steve made lunch, serving it to Sam like a good little slave, and Sam let him go outside unsupervised, even though Bucky would throw a fit if he found out. Steve came back in well before Bucky could come back. 

 “Thanks,” He said, when Sam gave him that look like he was expecting gratitude. “I really… appreciate that. It can get kind of stuffy in here, you know?”

 Sam nodded, moving to face forward again. He was on the couch, arms draped over the back and eyes on the tv, though the screen was black. Steve wanted to escape to his room, but had a feeling he wasn’t excused yet. 

 “No, I get it,” Sam said quietly. Steve immediately froze. Sam was being… serious. His voice was dark in a way Steve hadn’t heard from him before. Steve automatically mapped out his exit strategies, but if he was honest… he was curious what this was about. “Peter gets that way sometimes too. He has some light claustrophobia issues, gets flighty when he’s in the same room for too long. I tried to fix it with exposure therapy, but it never really took. I guess I’ll have to try harder, next time.”

 Oh, this was definitely bad news. 

 Steve walked past Sam, sitting on the opposite couch and curling his legs up. “You sound awfully sure that there’ll be a next time. Why?”

 Sam’s eyes flashed. “You think he won’t come back to me?”

 Steve flinched. “I mean. He left. I don’t know why… if he made that decision…”

 “You know, I see a lot of him in you. Little things, you know? The way you hold yourselves, the way you act unsure. Until you’re in your masters arms; then you always know. Isn’t that right?”

 Steve closed his jaw, trying to keep from saying anything stupid. “We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you. And Peter.”

 It might have been the most diplomatic thing Steve had ever said. Unfortunately, Sam shook his head, getting up and moving to sit on the smaller couch with Steve. Steve shimmied away, putting as much space between them as he could. It wasn’t much. 

 “You two really are alike,” Sam muttered. He didn’t look at Steve. His hand reached out, landed on Steve’s thigh. Rubbed up, and down. Rubbed up, and down. Rubbed up. Thumb digging in, moving in circles. His hand didn’t go back down. 

 Steve had a few options now, none of them good. Some however, were much, much better than the alternatives. 

 “Sometimes,” Steve started cautiously, gritting his teeth as Sam’s hand trailed higher, “Sometimes I get angry at Bucky. Sometimes I wish I didn't have to be around him all the time.”

 It worked. Sam pulled his hand away, as if somehow Steve’s words had offended his delicate sensibilities. “That’s disgusting.”

 Steve stood, trying to put a little room between them. Sam stood up too, crossing his arms. “It’s true. And I bet Peter felt the same way, sometimes.”

 "You liar,” Sam spat, his words venomous. “You filthy fucking liar. You act so happy around Bucky, but it's just an act—"

"I am happy!” Steve snapped, refusing to back down. “With Bucky. I'm happy with him around 50 percent of the time... maybe more.” Sam stepped forwards, making Steve step back automatically, then scowl at his own actions. Steve tilted his head up, forcing himself to stay in place. He wasn’t going to let Sam take this away from him. “But you know what? I'm still a slave  _ 100 percent _ of the time. And when you're like me-- when there's not a  _ single _ thing you can do, without having to worry if it'll get you spanked, or whipped, or sold, or  _ fucking shot _ \-- when you're like me, that 50% is not enough!"

 “You deceitful little—” 

 “And guess what?” Steve interrupted, really getting into it now. He grinned, cold and merciless. “Like you said, Peter and I are practically the same person. So if this is how I feel, how do you think he felt?”

 “He loved me,” Sam growled. He slapped Steve across the face, sharp and bitter, but the pain didn’t faze Steve. “He  _ loved  _ me. You’ll see. You’ll all see— when he comes back—”

"Hes gone!” Steve snapped, the irritation from Sam that had been festering over the last few weeks finally given an outlet. “He left you! Hes never coming back! Get over it!"

"How would you know?” Sam challenged, getting closer again, staring him down. “Did they tell you about the escape after all? What’d he tell you?!”

"He didn’t tell me!” Steve yelled, then let his voice go quiet again. “Look at me, look at where I am. In case you didn't realise, I wasn't  _ invited _ on the escape. They... they left me. They’re gone, and I’m right fucking here, with my collar, and Fenris, and  _ you.  _ They left, and they  _ left me behind.  _ I wasn’t invited!”

 “But you would’ve left?” Sam challenged. 

 “In a heartbeat! I! Wasn’t! Invited! They didn’t want me, just like Peter didn’t want you!” 

 Steve was shaking now, trembling like a goddamn leaf but  _ fuck,  _ he felt good. He felt like he’d just climbed to the top of a mountain, and now he was covered in dirt and dripping mud, but damn, the view was  _ worth it.  _ There was no wiping away Steve’s smug smile now. Every bone in his body hurt from the confession; he’d been holding it back for so long. But it was true; all of it. 

_They_ _left him._

__ They saw Bucky, his mask, his gun. They saw Steve, his markings, his gags. They heard the rumors about Bucky, how he was fucked in the head, a hermit, a fucking  _ psychopath  _ and. They. Left. Him. 

 Steve and Sam were both perfectly still, waiting for the other to make the next move. Sam was so close, he could spit on Steve, and he looked like he might be considering it. He was furious, clearly. Steve had told him what he’d always known but had never wanted to admit. 

 In a rush of motion, Sam was shoving Steve back. He stumbled, landing hard on the floor and sliding, but Sam didn’t follow after him, and Steve didn’t get up. He just stayed there, watching, waiting. Steve had never been all that good at running from bullies anyway.

 And then, the door. 

 Steve didn’t move. He hardly even breathed. But, that means he also didn’t grovel, didn’t look away. 

 Bucky’s voice, confused, distressed: “What’d he do.”

 And the fun thing? Steve didn’t know if he was talking about him, or about Sam. 

 Neither of them responded. Bucky tried again, closer now: “What happened. One of you, tell me.  _ Sam.” _

 There were tears in Steve’s eyes, but he blinked, trying to clear them as subtly as possible. He knew that no matter what happened next, he'd won this war-- he'd made this master hurt, he'd made him tear up, he made him  _ feel _ things. That was strength. That was power. 

 "He needs to be punished," Sam said slowly, exactly what Steve had expected from him. "For speaking out of turn. And I want to be the one to deal it out." 

 Bucky looked back and forth between them, like he was trying to process what the hell he'd just walked into, before moving to crouch next to Steve. He cupped Steve's jaw, making him look at him. "Is that true? Did you speak out of turn to-- to my friend, to our guest?" 

 Steve pressed his lips closed. He raised his chin, proud. Bucky let go.

 The kick to his side forced his breath out, making him roll to the side. His smile dropped immediately and he clutched his ribs, the spot where the pain flared up from. He heard Bucky hiss at his side, but he didn’t chastise Sam for the brutality, which meant that whatever punishment Sam decided to dole out, Bucky would probably go along with it. 

 Sam went to retrieve some things while Steve was too busy trying to relearn how to breathe. He was still wheezing when Sam came back and shoved his pants and boxers down, pulling them off entirely. He manhandled Steve out of his shirt, then shoved him onto his hands and knees, huffing and puffing and naked. He snapped something to Bucky in Russian, and Bucky sat beside Steve, snaking his arm in over his hips to hold his ass in place. As for Steve...

 Well, Steve was delirious. He giggled, giggled madly because oh did he  _ fuck up  _ but he couldn't care, not now. He hope Sam remembered his words, he hoped he felt them when he fell asleep alone at night, he hope they burned deep and hung as heavy as a collar--

_  WHAP! _

 And Steve screamed, not prepared for the pain. He looked back, eyes going wide when he say Sam with not a paddle, but a  _ switch _ . Then Bucky was grabbing his chin, forcing him to look forwards again, and Steve had almost shaken his hand off when another strike hit and he screamed again. 

 "Every time you get hit, I want you to count and say thank you," Sam ordered, pressing the switch against Steve's ass just enough to make him flinch away. "Let's try those two again." 

 He struck him again, and Steve was too busy gritting his teeth and trying to keep quiet to remember the order. "Again!" Sam yelled, and this time Steve remembered and yelled "One, thank you!" 

 Sam didn't praise him, didn't even respond, except with another strike. "Two, thank you!" 

 The pain was searing. With a paddle, or with Bucky's bare hand, the strike was spread out so it was more of a blunt force than a sting. But this pain was thin, sharp, defined. It was impossibly easy to hit either fresh skin or skin that was already on fire. Sam did both, without warning. 

 With every hit, Steve jerked forwards, but Bucky's arm held him still, making him absorb more and more of the force directly into his skin. 

 After Steve yelled "Five, thank you!" he felt Sam's hand in his hair, yanking it back and making his neck ache. 

 "'Five, thank you!'" Sam mocked in a falsetto. "I thought you didn't like me? Didn't like this? And yet, you keep thanking me for every hit, now why is that?" 

 The switch snuck in between Steve's legs, and before he could stop himself he was shivering, shivering like a chihuahua.

 "It's because you don't like this," Sam growled into his ear. "It's because you want this to stop. And you know that the only one who can stop this is me." 

 "Suck my dick," Steve muttered. 

 Behind him, Sam made some quick, aggressive move, but was stopped by Bucky. Bucky spoke fast, quiet Russian, and after a moment Sam responded with something short, sharp. " _ <Fine.> _ "

 They shifted positions, ever so slightly. Steve rocked a little, trying to keep his arms from locking up. He didn't object when Bucky put the side of his hand in Steve's mouth, something for him to bite down on. His flesh was warm inbetween his teeth. 

 Then Sam was hitting him, not pausing in between every strike,  _ WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP! _ Steve bit down hard, screaming through it, and finally,  _ finally _ , on the last strike Bucky let go altogether and Steve collapsed forwards. He stayed stock still, clenching in preparation for another strike, but none came. 

Sam walked away, not getting far before Bucky called out "Hey. Are you forgetting the aftercare?" 

Steve rested his cheek on the floor, watching Sam hazily. He was by the front door, looking very much like he wanted to walk out and never return. "No, I'm not forgetting. But I only do that for my own slaves-- or at least, I only  _ did _ that for my own slaves. I'll see you later, Barnes. Maybe teach that brat some manners in the meantime."

He left, and Steve winced at the slam of the door. 

  
  


\-------------------------

  
  


"You dumb little fuck," Bucky said. He looked as fond as Steve had ever seen him, smiling and rosy-cheeked and happy. "Sometimes I think you like getting hurt." 

Steve laughed breathily, tucking his head against Bucky's chest. They were in Steve's bed in the fishbowl, and Bucky had already given Steve water and scrambled eggs, and rubbed a cool, soothing salve over his burning skin. Steve was still naked, but Bucky had taken off his shirt too, giving him just the perfect level of skin-on-skin contact. 

He rubbed up and down Steve's back. It was good enough to make Steve want to moan. Bucky’s voice was a low, relaxed grumble when he asked "What'd you say to him, anyways?" 

Steve smiled a little wider, showing teeth. "Something mean."

Bucky chuckled. "Yeah, I assumed." 

Steve shrugged, wiggling closer. "I already got punished for it once, don't make me repeat it."

"Yeah, I guess." 

Bucky just kept rubbing his back, not pressing for answers. A wave of warmth rolled over Steve; Bucky was going to let him have this. He was going to let him keep that moment, that moment of shameful, bittersweet pride, and it make Steve's entire body, from his toes to his nose, tingle beautifully. 

"Hey Buck?" Steve whispered, tilting his head up to see Bucky's face. "I love you." 

He only had a moment to catch his breath and see Bucky's eyes shine before Bucky was pulling him into a kiss, wet and suffocating and absolutely perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you missed it: Sam told Steve that he reminded him of Peter, and then started making the moves on Steve (spoiler alert: he wanted to fuck). Steve acknowledged this, looked at his options, and instead of getting raped he turned the tables on Sam and got into an argument instead, which he won. We love a badass 👏👏
> 
> Also in this chapter:  
> \- Picnic with POV switch, plus Fenris  
> \- Sam being a lil bitch (just in general)  
> \- The Argument  
> \- Aftercare (and Steve's love confession)
> 
> @Littlewildcat requested that Steve and Sam have a nice little chat. This wasnt ~exactly~ a chat, but I hope you liked it regardless. 
> 
> Also! Before you all go hating on Sam, let me remind you, hes at basically the lowest point in his life. Hes lost EVERYTHING. And now, when hes in denial about it, Steve is telling him bluntly that Peter hated him and never wants to see him again. So yes, Sam may seem out of chatacater, theres a reason for that. 
> 
> Please let me know what youd be interested in seeing in the next chapter (not relating to the plot). More domestic stuff between Steve and Bucky? Horrifically kinky smut? I've had a few requests for some intense hurt/comfort. Basically, let me know what you're thirsting for in regards to their dynamic.
> 
> Approximately 4-5 chapters left.


	39. The Start

 Of course, Bucky wasn't going to just let it go. Steve had been rude, so Steve had to make it up. Sam came over the next day, and was treated to not only a verbal apology by Steve, but one by Bucky as well. Then, Bucky had Steve show Sam just how sorry and remorseful he was by kneeling, in full harness and cuffs, in between Sam's legs for the entirety of lunch. His forehead rested against the edge of the seat, the position clearly sexual in nature. Steve waited, being quiet and obedient, and about halfway through Sam started touching his hair, but besides that, he kept his distance. Afterwards, Sam left. And that was that. 

 "I'm glad he's gone," Steve murmured as he climbed onto Bucky's lap a minute later. "I respect that he's your friend. But he was driving me crazy."

 Bucky hummed, pleased. "I'm glad to have you all to myself again."

\------------------------------

  
  


 Time passes.

  
  


\------------------------------

  
  


 Bucky starts taking Steve to the market with him again, now that Sam isn't around to babysit. Steve is chained to the back of the booth, and Bucky gives him menial labor to do. He cuts the stems of the cucumbers short; pulls off any dirty layers from the onions; separates the peppers by color. Bucky comes back to him when there's no customers, feeds him a pepper like it's an apple, and then kisses the taste from his mouth.

  
  


\------------------------------

 Steve falls asleep on the couch one afternoon and wakes up in Bucky's arms. He's naked, but warm.

  
  


 Time passes.

  
  


\-----------------------------

  
  


 Steve spends so much time looking in the mirror one day that Bucky comes to investigate. Steve's staring at the neck tattoo, the brand burned into his skin with permanent ink.  _ Property. _

__ It's absolutely hideous. None of Steve's tattoos are all that bothersome, but this one might be the ugliest thing Steve's ever seen. 

 When Bucky sees what he's doing, he slaps Steve's hands away. "Stop messing with it."

 "It's ugly," Steve muttered, not really intending for Bucky to hear. 

 "It's  _ fine, _ " Bucky insists. He hesitates, watching Steve for a few moments before asking "Do you really dislike it that much?" 

 Steve tries to explain without angering him. "It's just the placement, it looks weird." 

 Bucky considers, then leaves, coming back a moment later with another collar. He takes the one Steve's currently wearing off, gives his neck a little squeeze, and then attaches the new, thicker one. He adjusts it until Steve can barely see the edge of the ink. "There. I fixed it."

And time passes.

\------------------------------

  
  


 They go to the city, and Bucky doesn't tell Steve where they're going until they get there. The store is one they've been in before, but this time they go to a different section. An assistant helps Bucky find the latest fashions, and then Steve is lead to a private room to try them on. By private, they mean 'secluded from the rest of the store'. By private, they mean 'our employees won't watch you change'. By private, they don't mean private from Bucky. It doesn't matter, Steve's used to it anyways. His bedroom wall is made of glass; there is no privacy from Bucky.

 He tries on set after set of lingerie. There's one set of peach colored lace that he's very sure was meant for a girl, but he doesn't question it, just puts it on. When he's dressed, Bucky comes over, rubbing his hands up and down Steve's sides, fabric and flesh. He likes the bralette, says something about it bringing 'balance to the ensemble'. He has Steve hold still while he attaches the garter belt of the same shade, clipping the loose strands of ribbon to his stockings. 

 After that, he watches Steve for a few moments, having him turn, hold his body this way and that. Steve is holding his hands behind his back, chest puffed out due to the position, not pride, when Bucky has an associate come in. She agrees something is missing. She agrees to go get them. A set of peach flowers is woven into his hair. His plain black collar is removed, replaced by a peach one with a little bell on it. 

 The associate leaves. Bucky sits on the couch, legs wide, and instructs Steve with his eyes to come over, climb onto his lap. "Is this how you like me?" Steve asks. He tries to say more, but the words don't come.  _ Is this really how you like me? _

 Bucky's hands are on his ass.  _ "Yes," _ he says, hands wandering  _ everywhere.  _ "Love you like this." 

 Steve ducks his head and the bell jingles. Bucky makes a pleased noise. 

 They buy the outfit. And others. 

 And time passes. 

  
  


\-----------------------

  
  


 Steve is getting ready for bed when Bucky comes in with no words and no warning. He pulls out an outfit and stays almost too close while Steve changes, discarding the comfortable, practical night clothes with the little thing Bucky picked out. Bucky weaves flowers into Steve's hair, deep red roses the same color as the lace teddy he put him in. It's tight to his skin and shows as much of his legs as possible without exposing his entire ass. The outfit is completed with a deep red collar, and a leash of the same hue. 

 "Are we going somewhere?" Steve asks finally. 

 "No," Bucky whispers, his brows furrowed in concentration. He makes a face like he's looking at a piece of art, something worth seeing, worth interpreting. But he isn't. He is just looking at Steve. "I was just… in a creative mood, I guess. Wanted to dress you up a bit." 

 Well, it's good they aren't leaving the house, because the outfit isn't exactly concealing. His nipple bars can be seen through the lace, and Steve resolutely doesn't look down at his bulge. 

 "Something's missing," Bucky whispers. 

 "Something's always missing," Steve complains, just a little bitter. 

 Bucky grins, and pulls out a tube of lipstick. The same red as everything else. Matte. 

 "I'm still a guy," Steve whispers, then parts his lips on command to allow Bucky to smooth the color on. He doesn't remember getting so complacent. 

 "Makeup's gender neutral," Bucky promises. "Besides, no one's gonna see you. This is just for me." 

 That's a lie, because only a minute later Bucky is pulling Steve into his tiny bathroom, hugging him from behind and letting him view himself in the mirror. He is excellently well-color-coordinated. There is also something about his getup that makes him look sort of like a bride. There isn't a stitch of white on him, but the flowers, the lipstick…

 "You're beautiful," Bucky whispers, almost directly into his ear. "I don't tell you enough." 

 "No need. I figured it out," Steve replies dryly. He catches Bucky's eyes in the mirror, and finds that he isn't able to look away. "What with you starin' at me all the time. It's enough to give a guy a complex." 

 Bucky kisses him hard on the temple. "Good."

 After that, Bucky leads him out to the backyard, where he'd already laid a blanket out, big enough for the two of them and surrounded by candles. "Is this some sort of human sacrifice?" Steve asks idly, just staring at the display. "You know. You pretty me up, lay me out, then set the blanket on fire. I didn't know you were into that." 

 "I'm  _ not,"  _ Bucky insists, voice a little firmer. "I just wanted to do something special." 

 They lay out on the blanket, not touching, though Bucky doesn't release his grip on the leash. They stare at the stars for a little while, and Steve is just about to ask why he can't recognize a single constellation when there is a tug on the collar, and he is forced to roll onto his side to release the tension. Bucky is on his side too, head resting on his arm, and Steve is distracted momentarily by his lips, slightly swollen and wet from being bitten. 

 "Ask me something," Bucky blurts out. "Anything." 

 Steve whines, ducking his head against Bucky's chest so he doesn't have to look at him. "C'mon, it's late. I can't think right now." 

 "How about I ask you a question then," Bucky says, and Steve ducks his head a little lower, ashamed for not complying with Bucky the first time. It would have been easier, letting Bucky talk about himself. "You and Nat got pretty close the other night, and you said that you knew her before. Were you ever…" 

 Steve feels his ears go red. "No. She's just my friend. You know how things are here, friends kiss all the time. It doesn't mean anything."

 "Well, I know that's normal here, but I also know that on Midgard things are more… monogamous."

 "I'll ask you a question now," Steve interrupts, not wanting to follow that path anymore. "I've actually been kind of… wondering about this. You've mentioned how we're going to be… together… for a while. Um. I was just wanting to know how long exactly you were thinking." 

 He can feel Bucky's heavy exhale at that. His metal arm is slung over Steve's waist, rubbing circles on his back. "Well. I… I love you, Stevie. And I'm not… I'm not lying when I say that. So no, I'm not going to trade you in a few years, not gonna give you to Sam. I feel like we've really built a home together, and I don't know about you, but I don't wanna be the one who rips that away." 

 Steve feels his chest tighten, his muscles tense. Bucky just keeps petting him, same as ever. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…"

 "It's fine," Bucky promises. "If you were anxious, I'm glad I could reassure you." 

 So that's what that was: a reassurance. Bucky would never leave him, nor would he let him leave. Bucky hadn't signed on with the intention of keeping Steve a few years; he signed on for life. 

 Steve really was right about the marriage imagery. 

 Steve is so lost in thought, he hardly notices when Bucky rolls him over, pulls him to be back to stomach, ass to crotch. He draps himself over Steve in a comforting, familiar manner, and Steve is struck with the thought of how well they actually fit. One thing that can be said about Bucky is that he is passionate. Steve had never been with someone with that level of passion before; he isn't sure if he's  _ met  _ someone with that level of passion before. And he's certainly never had someone fall in love with him. 

 "I love you too," Steve mutters. "For the record." 

 Bucky kisses him on the ear. "Yeah, I figured it out. What with you starin' all the time." 

 (And time passes.)

  
  


\---------------------

  
  


 Bucky starts unlocking the door again, allowing Steve to go outside unsupervised in the afternoons. Steve goes, lays himself out on the roof of the barn, and waits. He waits for the warmth. Waits for the comfort. Waits for the euphoria of  _ sun  _ and  _ alone.  _ It doesn't come.

 Time passes.

  
  


\----------------------

  
  


 Steve and Bucky go to another party, one day, and Sam sends Steve to retrieve Loki from his quarters. It's Loki's party, but for some reason, he hasn't made an appearance. 

 When Steve finds his room, the door is open. Loki is standing on a pedestal, looking into a mirror while two assistants try and pull his corset impossibly tighter. "'Gaining weight,'" Loki mutters under his breath, as if mocking something someone else said. "Bah! If anything, I've never been so thin! I should have made him eat more after that, we'll see who's gaining weight  _ now-- _ " he stops mid-rant when he sees Steve in the doorway and sneers. "What do you want?" 

 Steve decides that the best route to go on is the one of least resistance. "Sam Wilson is requesting you downstairs." 

 " _ Wilson  _ can  _ wait, _ " Loki snarls. "Slave, come  _ here." _

 Steve looks around, but he is the only slave Loki could possibly be talking to. Loki is forbidden from owning slaves for a few more months, and neither of the assistants are wearing collars or revealing garments. Hesitantly, Steve steps forwards.

 "The armbands, on the dressing table," Loki instructs, sounding almost bored. Steve retrieves the requested items and brings them to Loki, hoping he is planning on putting them on himself. He has no such luck; Loki simply holds out his wrist expectantly. 

 Steve starts attaching the golden armbands, which involves wrapping them in place and lacing up the undersides in a pattern similar to Loki's corset. Occasionally the assistants pulls the corset lacings particularly tightly and Loki grunts, shifting, but for the most part he is silent. Steve is onto the second armband when Loki finally speaks. 

 "It's interesting, a master having an emotional connection with a slave. Even more interesting when that slave pretends to return their affections. I wonder how much of it is actually false? When a slave falls on their knees, promising love, I wonder how much of their actions is caused by desperation, and how much is caused by… gratitude?" 

 Steve finishes off the armband, stepping away. "I don't know what you're talking abou--"

 "My boots too," Loki cuts off, kicking Steve lightly in the shin to draw attention to his untied shoes. "Odin knows I can't bend over in this waist-trainer. It's one of the beauties of it, actually. You know, in the ancient times, nobles wore inconvenient clothes to show how they didn't have to labor. It's one of the reasons I am so pleased to be bringing it back into style. That, and of course, the irony of making a laborer, like yourself, put on a restrictive garment of nobles, right before making you mop my floor." 

 Steve finishes with one boot, and Loki kicks him again, hissing " _ tighter."  _ Steve grits his teeth, undoing his work to do it all up again as Loki continues his monologue. "But anyways, what was I saying? Ah yes; your little game, with the love confessions and what not. How Peter pretended to be in love with his master, and now you follow his lead. Pathetic." 

 "I don't--" 

 "Stop lying," Loki says blandly. "Pietro told me  _ everything.  _ I know about it all; an obnoxious amount, really. I know about how Peter would rather be with MJ; how Gamora would rather be with the late Peter Quill; how you would rather not be here at all. I'll admit, you put on a good front. Sometimes, you're almost convincing."

 Steve finishes with the boots and stands. "If you'll excuse me, my master will be--" 

 "You're not excused," Loki cuts in quickly. Steve tries stepping back, but Loki darts his finger in the loop of his collar, trapping him in place. It's the red collar, still. The one with the bell on it. Loki looks at it with mild interest. "Well, this is cute. You know, I had Pietro for three years before allowing him to escape, and I never considered--"

 "Loki," a man interrupts, and Steve has never been so happy to hear Bucky's voice. "I don't remember giving you permission to touch my slave." 

 Loki lets go, lips curling with distaste. His eyes don't leave Steve's as he responds "Haven't you heard? I've been working in the movement to change that. We can't be too possessive of our slaves nowadays, can't have them feeling too safe. It's better they learn how to serve all masters, regardless of where 'their' master is at any given time." 

 Bucky doesn't respond to that, just barks out a sharp "Steve!" and finally,  _ finally,  _ Steve manages to break away from Loki's serpentine gaze. He runs over to Bucky, who grips him by the scruff and hauls him out of there. "Did he do anything?" He whispers, gaze intense. "I swear, if he touched you--" 

 "Nothing," Steve hears himself say. "He just… talked."

 Bucky grunts. "Come on. Let's get out of here." 

  
  


\-------------------------

  
  


 They go to the market, the next day, and Bucky allows Steve to go to the front of the booth. He interacts with the customers, as friendly as he can be without coming off as flirtatious. Bucky's put him in a pair of black overalls that ends in shorts instead of pants, and he didn't allow him a shirt. The front part of the overalls is small and loose enough that the casual observer can see Steve's nipple piercings, and his back is exposed enough that when he turns around, every one of his tattoos is visible. The only thing that isn't visible is the tattoo on his neck, hidden by the thick collar Bucky picked out for him that morning.

 (When Bucky's back is turned, Steve manages to slip two coins in his pockets, and time passes).

  
  
  


\----------------------------

  
  


 "I got a surprise for you," Bucky says one afternoon. He pulls out a movie with an English title. They have a few of those, but they've watched them all so many times Steve is beginning to hate them. 

 Bucky has him strip nude, and he does the same. The movie starts up, and Bucky sits behind Steve, working Sam's conditioning creams into the roots of his hair. It's good enough to make Steve almost forgot about the movie playing in the background. 

 When Bucky's finished, he pulls Steve on top of him like a blanket, and them pulls an actual blanket over their nude forms. Steve relaxes against his chest. He's heard that skin on skin contact is good for babies, but apparently it's not bad for slaves either.

  
  


\--------------------

  
  


 Somewhere along the line, Steve stops eating.

  
  


\---------------------

  
  


 Fenris chases him, and Steve barely escapes. He sits in the rafters of the barn and hyperventilates with minimal grace. 

 (And time--)

\----------------------

  
  


 Bucky stops collecting the geese eggs for a few weeks, and they hatch into a dozen goslings. The mothers are busy enough preening them and squawking at Fenris that they permit Steve to sit within viewing range. He spends an afternoon like that, watching the barely-too-large newborns bite and climb on each other, quacking and flapping their wings emphatically. He watches the mothers push them into the pond, watches them learn to paddle and swim and dunk. Eventually, a few goslings wander over to him and climb on his lap when he's not paying attention, and he's about to push them away when one of the mothers honks angrily. He puts his hands in the air, away from the goslings, which seems to appease the hen. Apparently, Steve is not their biggest threat, as long as he doesn't try and get handsy. It's offensive that the geese are allowed more boundaries than Steve is, but he tries not to think about it. 

 Steve let's the goslings do whatever they want, after that. One of them eats half of Steve's shoelace, and he's too intrigued to care. 

  
  


\--------------------------

  
  


(Steve steals three more coins and hides them in his notebook).

  
  


\--------------------------

  
  


 It's one of the hottest days of the year when Bucky throws Steve in the pond. They fight, and Bucky dunks Steve whenever he gets close, but only laughs when Steve climbs on his shoulders, intent on sabotage. Somehow, Steve ends up cradled in Bucky's arms, staring at his lashes that seem to glitter with water. He can't help it; he kisses him. 

 Bucky kisses back, loving and forceful. It's wet and sloppy and rough, tongues and saliva and teeth, their noses and jaws and faces getting in the way of going as deep as they actually want. Bucky pulls back, and Steve just has long enough to smile and inhale once before he's being dunked under again.

  
  


\-------------------------

  
  


 Bucky makes Steve a sandwich for lunch, and Steve eats it outside. Well, 'eats' is a strong word. He takes a bite, throws one bite to the goslings, chews for a while. He makes it about halfway through before giving up on it altogether.

 (And time passes).

\-------------------------

  
  


 Bucky goes out to feed Fenris. When he comes back inside, it's is with a grave look on his face. He goes straight to his room, and Steve had just gotten up to follow him when he comes back, various implements in his hands. Steve swallows, knowing where this is going.

 Wordlessly, Bucky uses a riding crop to gesture at Steve to turn around. He obeys, and is rewarded with his hands being cuffed behind him. From there, Bucky manhandles him to the ground. He pulls off his pants and panties, and Steve just lays there, letting him. Steve is arranged so he is on his back, propped up by his hands beneath him, his knees bent and held open with a spreader bar. Bucky hits him on the inner thigh with the riding crop, and Steve jerks in the restraints, but they hold.

 He lays his head down, not fighting any of it. 

 "I was outside," Bucky begins, pacing around Steve slowly, "And I noticed some ants crowding around. So I went over to see what they were doing, and I found this…  _ sandwich _ on the ground, just… being eaten by the ants. And I was wondering who possibly could have put it there.” 

 “I wasn’t hungry,” Steve defends. He lets his head lull to the side, staring off into space. It is infinitely better than staring at his own junk, which is currently featured quite prominently, what with the way his hips are raised. 

 Bucky slapd his inner thigh again, then uses the crop to push Steve’s shirt up, revealing his stomach. Steve cringes. “How often have you… not been hungry lately?”

 “Just lunch.”

 “There were scrambled eggs in the trash.”

 “Just  _ today, _ ” Steve corrects sharply. “That’s it.”

 “I think you’re lying,” Bucky whispers. “But it’s fine, because I know you won’t do it again. From now on, you’ll be eating at the counter, and only at the counter. I will be controlling your portion sizes again, and after every meal you will show me your cleaned off plate. Am I clear?”

 “Crystal.”

 The riding crop slows from where it had been stroking along his outer thigh. Steve braces himself for the slap, but it never comes. Instead, Bucky lats down on his side next to Steve, making it that much harder to avoid his eyes. “Hey. I need you to take care of yourself.” Steve doesn’t respond, so he grabs his jaw, his grip gentle but firm. “Hey.  _ Hey,  _ look at me. Who owns you?”

 Steve works his neck a little, not wanting to say it. “You.”

 “That’s right. So what does that make you?”

 “Your slave.”

 “Close. It makes you my  _ property _ . And I don’t want anything bad happening to my stuff, alright?”

 That makes Steve smile, a little bitterly. “You know, you’re really bad at this whole sweet-talking thing.”

 Bucky grins, a little dark. “Yeah, I know. For your punishment, I’m gonna make you wear a cockcage for another month to help you remember. Annnnnnnd… I’m gonna leave you here for a little while.”

 “Buckyyy,” Steve whines. 

 He stands, winking. “It’s a good view. I like you like this.”

 “I hate you,” Steve breaths, a little lower at the feeling of Bucky kneeling between his legs to lock his cock. 

 That earns him another slap, but it isn’t hard enough to actually sting. So Steve relaxes, trying to get comfortable on the hardwood floor. He’ll be there as long as Bucky wants him to be.

  
  


\--------------------------

  
  


 Steve eats all of his meals and shows Bucky his plate each time. It makes his stomach churn, but he does it, and time passes.

  
  


\--------------------------

  
  


 Fenris gets in the house one day, and Steve accidentally knocks a lamp over in his scramble to get back. Once Bucky has forced the hellhound outside again, he scolds Steve. He just scolds him, doesn't even punish him. Steve thinks back to all of his recent punishments, for the sandwich, the glass, the disobedience, and realizes that Bucky had been getting lighter and lighter on him. It's been weeks since Steve was beaten, and even then, that was Sam's doing. Afterwards, Bucky didn't even scold him, he just held him and kissed him and Steve said  _ I love you.  _

  
  


\--------------------------

  
  


 They go to the market. Bucky leaves his mask, his goggles, and his leather at home. His hair is in a bun. Steve's hair is adorned with daisies. 

  
  


\--------------------------

  
  


 Steve can hardly peel himself out of bed. Bucky is suffocatingly warm, and Steve is so, so tired. He watches the sun rise through the windows. He can't get up. He can't get out. He can't get out. 

 He can't get out. 

 (And--)

  
  


\--------------------------

  
  


 The day of his and Natasha's supposed escape arrives, and Steve goes through the predetermined motions. He wrote down the plan in his notebook, and spent the morning checking, double checking, triple checking. He counted out the coins, he wrote the letter. 

 That morning, Steve had requested that Bucky dress him in a harness with an attached collar. Bucky had done so with delight, squeezing his caged cock when he was done and telling him how pretty he was. How this evening, Steve should put in a plug. How they night, he wanted to fuck, slow and dirty. 

 Steve found himself growing hard, despite everything. It hurt a little, with the cage on, and when Bucky squeezed him again he felt it and he laughed.  _ I hope you learned your lesson,  _ he said.  _ I promise, in one month, I'll give you the best orgasm of your life. I'm sorry I have to punish you, I know baby, I know it's not fun. But I can't have you hurting yourself.  _

 They makeout on the couch afterwards, and Steve reflects on just how fucking tired he is. He reflects on just how tired he is, and he reflects on the fact that one way or another, they won't be having that sweet, loving sex Bucky was talking about. Because if Bucky finds out-- if he stops Steve halfway through this poorly conceived plan, like Steve expects him to-- then he will be too busy putting Steve in his place to fuck him gently. 

 Steve makes lunch, grilled vegetables and meat with tea on the side. In Bucky's tea, Steve mixes three capsules of Bucky's sleeping pills. It's more than Bucky would ever take in one night, but Steve knows he can't be overly cautious. He has to do this, has to be willing to do this. Natasha is waiting for him.  _ Natasha _ is  _ waiting _ for him. 

 So Steve spikes Bucky's tea and watches from the counter as he sips it down. Steve takes longer than him to eat, because of his anxiety-induced nausea, so when he's finally done Bucky's already relocated himself to the couch. 

 "We need to clean up around here," Bucky mutters, looking around. "We'll probably dust the bookshelf, spray down the bathrooms. I've been getting lazy with keeping this shit up, we need to do better. And we need to pick up all this clutter. Stevie, are you done yet?" 

 Steve is. He stands, roughly, obediently, and is just walking to the couch to show Bucky his plate when Bucky grabs his notebook from the side table, starting to say "Stevie, will you put this away--" when he freezes, large hand still on the notebook. Steve freezes too. Bucky frowns, and gives the notebook one, decisive shake, and Steve is pretty sure the geese outside can hear the distinguishable sound of coins clinking together, it's so loud. Bucky frowns harder. 

 And that's it. That's when the plan fails, because Bucky found his notebook, because Steve was stupid, and now he's going to open it to see the coins and the plans and the sketches and the Russian and all of Steve's other secrets, and that's it, that's it on Steve's freedom, and it doesn't  _ matter  _ that Bucky just gulped down the sleeping pills because he's going to tie Steve down and break his ribs long before the pills go into effect--

 Bucky looks at Steve in horror, notebook still in hand. And Steve smashes his plate over Bucky's head. And Bucky crumples.

 Steve is blinking tears out of his eyes as he tries to process everything, tries to process the notebook now on the floor, next to Bucky's body, his head surrounded in a halo of Steve's dirty dish, and all Steve can think is  _ shit. _

 (And time  _ stops. _ )

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter:  
> \- Steve apologized to Sam  
> \- Steve and Bucky discussed Steve's new tattoo  
> \- They went shopping (for *cough* lingerie)  
> \- They have their outdoor stargazing moment   
> \- Loki  
> \- Goslings  
> \- Pond swimming/fighting  
> \- Eating issues (+punishment)
> 
> And finally (drumroll please)...  
> \- The Escape Began
> 
> !!!!!!  
> I'm not saying a _thing_.  
> Please comment and let me know your thoughts!


	40. The Portal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A HUGE chapter!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I s2g I read every single comment, but just so you know, I didn't respond to any comments on the last chapter on purpose. I was going to, but then I decided to write this new chapter instead. Hope you dont mind ;)

 Steve paced back and forth behind the couch. Behind the couch because Bucky was laying in front of the couch, on the floor, surrounded by shards of glass. And if Steve paced  _ behind  _ the couch, that meant he could focus for  _ five goddamn seconds  _ without panicking again, because  _ oh God, oh shit, what did he do? _

 Steve had already checked Bucky's pulse (twice), so he knew he was still alive. It was a small consolation. Steve had stayed close for the first few minutes, just in case, but they'd entered the time when the drugs were supposed to kick in, so it was likely that Bucky would be out for hours-- possibly until the next day. Or possibly until that night. Or maybe, the drugs wouldn't work at all, and Steve had ten minutes before Bucky woke up from his plate-induced catnap, wondering what the hell was going on.

 Steve wasn't sure if he'd ever felt so guilty in his entire life. He'd screwed this up big time. It wasn't like he and Natasha could actually  _ escape _ , that was just a daydream. They'd get caught, and then all the freedom that Steve had earned would be gone. No more afternoons outside. No more private journal. No more freedom of movement. Bucky would probably tie him up and lock him in his room for the rest of time, because that's where Steve was safest, and Bucky only cared about Steve being 'safe'...

 The surge of bitterness that came with that thought was unexpected, almost overpowering. Steve… Steve  _ hated  _ Bucky for what he'd done. He hated Bucky for thinking he always knew best, for thinking… thinking any of this was okay. Bucky had decided so many months ago that Steve was his, and no one dared disagree. Not even Steve. 

_ "And what does that make you?" _

_  "Your slave." _

_  "Close. It makes you my  _ **_property._ ** _ " _

_  "Yes Master." _

  
  


 Another wave of anxiety rose to the surface, nearly knocking Steve down with the intensity of it. Bucky was going to be  _ so pissed  _ when he woke up. Steve already knew the plan to escape wouldn't work, so shouldn't he just give in now? He could call Sam, tell him something happened and Bucky needed medical care. Sam was obnoxious, sometimes, but he did care about Bucky. Steve could trust him to have Bucky's best interests at heart, no matter what. 

 So, that was it. Steve would call Sam, who'd come and pick them up. They'd go to the hospital, where they could give Bucky drugs to help counteract the ones Steve used on him. Bucky would awake, surrounded by tubes and monitors, groggy, disoriented, and the first thing he would see would be Steve kneeling on the floor.  _ I'm so, so sorry master. I disobeyed. _

__ The punishment for attempting escape was steep. But, the punishment for thwarting your own escape out of loyalty to your master couldn't be as bad, right? And, if Natasha still escaped without him, he could peg it all on her, saying he was influenced and pressured and-- and--

 And that wouldn't work either. Because if Steve didn't bring his coins, and his letter, there would be no escape for Natasha. She was relying on him, too. 

 That thought was enough to send Steve into action. He was already wearing a locked harness over his shirt, so he couldn't change either of those, but he did change his pants, putting on the overlarge shoes Bucky'd provided him with on their first excursion to Midgard. They would be no good for running, but they would be necessary to blend in once they were on Earth ( _ if  _ they got that far). The harness was pretty obvious, but Steve thinks that, if Bucky ever were to let him go to Earth on his own (haha), then he'd probably put him in something similar. Bucky would have him bring a sweatshirt to cover it, but he would find comfort in the knowledge that underneath, Steve was thoroughly contained. 

 The thought triggered another one, and before Steve could stop himself, he was groping himself through his pants, cursing madly when he felt the bars of the cock cage underneath. He should have remembered, should have done something to get Bucky to take it off. And now it was stuck, probably for the rest of his life, because Steve sure as hell wouldn't be able to remove it. That was fine, it was  _ fine.  _ Who cared? If he never got off again, it would be too soon. 

 "God, this is a disaster," Steve muttered to himself. 

 After changing, Steve tore the pages out of his journal that he would need, and slipped the coins into one of Bucky's coin purses, tying that around on of the straps of his harness. Now that Bucky was out, the plan was basically to meet Natasha by the portal Thor and Heimdall manned. At the portal, they would give them the note that Steve had painstakingly written. The idea was that the note was from Bucky, which would be 'confirmed' by the fact that it was written in Russian, which Steve wasn't supposed to know. They would tell them that Bucky and Wanda were allowing them to go onto Earth to get some supplies, as long as they were back by sunset. Anyone who knew Bucky would know there was no way in Hell he'd ever let Steve do such a thing, but Thor and Heimdall had never talked to Bucky with any sort of familiarity, and Steve had never seen them at any of the parties. 

The layers of lies they'd created should be enough to convince them.

 After that, they'd go through the portal. Gamora and Natasha had planned a way to find each other on the other side, so Natasha would then take over, navigating them to wherever the other slaves were. Assuming they were all still together. Assuming none of them had been caught. Assuming they had remembered to leave the message. Assuming they hadn't been forced to relocate.

 Needless to say, this plan was riding on a lot of assumptions. 

 And Steve had almost given himself over to it. He let himself go hard and cold, gathering up his things without any care for this home that he'd be leaving. He was about to leave too, just like that, when a little noise made him rabbit heart jump, coming from the front of the couch. Steve inched forwards, feeling a little sick as he surveyed the scene in front of him. Bucky was still unconscious,  _ thank God,  _ but he'd grunted a little in his sleep. It was only then that Steve realized that there was a shard of glass terrifyingly close to Bucky's face; if he moved too much in his sleep, it could cut him. 

 Without thinking about it, Steve gathered the dustpan and swept up as much of the glass as he could find. He then got out his normal kit for washing the floor and got on his hands and knees, washing around Bucky's huge, prone body. 

_ There, _ he thought dully.  _ I fixed it.  _

__ Then, like the weak, weak man Steve was, he climbed into Bucky's arms, trying to simulate his master holding him one last time. It wasn't the same, and after a few minutes Steve gave up, and crawled away. 

  
  


\--------------------

  
  


 There was one challenge in particular that Steve had been anticipating, but had done his best not to think about. He'd done such a good job, in fact, not thinking about it, that when he stepped outside to find Fenris growling and snarling at him, he had the audacity to be surprised. 

 Steve stood stock still, sizing up the threat. Fenris was huge as ever, teeth bared, his front closer to the ground like he was getting ready to leap. An image flashed before Steve's eyes briefly, of Fenris jumping him, getting on top of him, ripping his throat out. Fenris was fed once in the morning and once at night, but Steve knew he would still have a big enough appetite to eat Steve for a mid-afternoon snack. 

 "Hey, buddy," Steve said, trying to keep the beast calm. "It's just me, just Stevie. You know me, I live here. I'm just going outside for a little walk, alright?" 

 Fenris snarled again, jerking like he really was ready to pounce. Steve smiled, even though he could feel the sweat dripping down his armpit. He slowly squatted, picking up a rock from the ground. "Come on, we're all friends here?" 

 Fenris seemed a little confused then, so Steve took his chance. He hurled the rock at his head and took off sprinting, the dog barking as it chased after him. Steve ran as fast as he ever had in his life, tripping himself with his own feet but still going, going, going, across the grass and trampling over the cucumbers and into the barn, hitting his shoulder on the side of it, and hurling himself to the left into one of the stalls. He tried to draw his knife, the knife he'd stolen for this specific reason, but before he got the chance Fenris was leaping. There was no getting away, and he didn't even manage to get his hands up in defense when 200 pounds of purebred hellhound hit him, slamming him to the ground. Steve tried to scream, but he couldn't, couldn't, couldn't, his voice box wasn't working, he couldn't think, move,  _ breathe,  _ and the dog was on top of him and slobbering and loud and angry and Steve was going to  _ die.  _

__ He saw teeth, and stopped trying to get away. Instead, he wrapped himself up in a ball and shook, trying desperately to protect his organs with his knees pulled to his chest, to protect his head with his arms wrapped around his head. Fenris shoved at him, running around him, his huge nose trying to push past his defenses and get to some exposed flesh to take a bite. He trampled over Steve, ecstatic in his conquest, and Steve jerked every time a massive paw pushed somewhere painful. Finally, Fenris seemed to collect himself to make a real plan of attack, and bit at Steve's hair, nuzzling in between his arms to get access to his face, and--

 He began to lick Steve's face, happy as a kid on Christmas. He pushed Steve down, making it harder for him to dodge the huge licks, and when Steve tried to roll away Fenris barked joyously, tail wagging fast enough to propel a speed boat. Steve scrambled backwards, finding no escape from the kisses until he finally, finally was able to leap upwards and grab onto one of the rafters, swinging himself onto it. Fenris jumped, but he was in too playful of a mood to use all of his strength, and thus couldn't reach. 

 "Fucking monster," Steve muttered, retrieving his knife and throwing it into the next stall over. "'He's just a puppy'. Fuck you, Barnes. Fuck you." 

 After that, it was almost too easy to jump to the outside of the stall and shove the gate closed, trapping Fenris inside. Steve shook his head, wiped the hay off of his clothes, and hurried away. 

  
  


\--------------------

 He'd managed to shake away the Fenris jitters after a few minutes, which was good because they were immediately replaced by "I'm off the property and I'm about to be shot" jitters. He'd waited on property for the public transport truck to pass, then started walking, knowing it'd be a few minutes before the next one came by. If he acted casually enough, he could probably get away with walking on the side of the street, even if someone sees him, but he didn't want to take the chance. 

 Steve thought about other slaves as he walked, specifically the ones who had trusting enough masters to allow them to go on errands on their own. The idea of being allowed to travel to Midgard without Bucky seems absolutely absurd, but there were slaves who traveled back and forth regularly. Steve wondered what life was like for them, wondered what safeguards were in place to keep them from running off.

 He managed to distract himself enough that when someone fell in step with him, he jerked visibly. "Have any troubles getting out?" Natasha asked, eyes forwards, face a perfect, expressionless mask. 

 "A few," Steve said, willing his heart to return to it's normal pace. "You?" 

 She didn't say anything for a few moments, then replied "None." Steve watched her wearily, trying to see what was beneath the facade, but he couldn't quite tell. 

 He still didn't know what the past few months had been like for her, because she never told him. He didn't know what sort of master Wanda was. He didn't know anything about Wanda, really, except that she was in some sort of relationship with Doctor Strange. Just his name brought a scowl to Steve's face, and a dozen memories to his mind. Strange sitting on the floor of their living room, accepting Steve's touch indifferently. Strange, driving Steve away from Bucky's breakdown and to his own house, laden with bookshelves that Steve was for some reason, allowed. And then of course, the newer ones: Strange winning Natasha's company in a game of poker, Strange with his hands on Natasha's waist, Strange with his eyes on her from across the room, Strange sitting on the edge of a chair, his arm around Wanda's shoulder, but his foot lightly tapping against Natasha's arm. It was the smallest, most thoughtless display of possession, something another person might not even notice, but the type of thing that probably drove Natasha mad.  _ Tap, tap, tap.  _ A little message, a little reminder of "I'm right behind you."

 "I want to see them again," Natasha confessed, and it took Steve a moment to realize she was talking about the other slaves, the ones who'd theoretically gotten away. "I want to see what they are now. What we could be." 

 Steve thinks, again, about his little fantasy from before, with a few alterations. A suburban house this time, with rooms to spare and stupid striped furniture. They all sit on the couch to watch TV, hot cocoa in hands. They laugh a lot. Peter and MJ sit too close, holding each other's hands and looking at each other with every joke, just to gauge how much the other is laughing. 

 "Of course, I won't be excited to see Gamora," Natasha added, because of course she did. "Not at all. In fact, seeing her will probably ruin my day." 

 Steve grinned and shook his head. He imagined Gamora with a whole couch to herself, her feet propped up and a bowl of popcorn in her lap. She wears an ugly purple maternity shirt, and her rounded stomach is just big enough to make the buttons strain slightly. 

 "I'm sure you're dreading seeing her again," Steve said, just to be snarky. "Obviously. You won't even be a little happy."

 "Nope," Natasha agreed, popping the p. "She's a bitch." 

 Steve rolled his eyes. " _ You're  _ a bitch." 

 They didn't get a chance to chat anymore after that, because the little building containing the portal was within sight. Steve unintentionally caught his breath, and forced himself to push the air back out. "Alright. The portal is run by two men, Thor and Heimdall. Thor's the blond, Heimdall's the one with the helmet. We'll give them our note and money, and act like the good, obedient slaves we are."

 Natasha was so tense she didn't even pretend to snort at his joke. "Okay. They know you?"

 "Luckily, no. They've seen me a few times with Bucky, but they don't actually know him. They don't know how strict he is, otherwise there's no way in hell they'd let us across."

 "Lucky," Natasha muttered. 

 Steve couldn't help himself-- he grabbed her hand. He gave it a quick squeeze before letting go, not wanting to be seen. "We'll be fine. Paper, coins, that's it. Thor will probably be in charge, and he seems pretty relaxed. It never took us more than a few minutes, if that."

 "Earth," Natasha whispered, looking struck by some emotion. "I wonder how it's changed." 

 Steve opened his mouth, about to ask if she's visited, when he stops himself. No, clearly, she hasn't. Which means that all this time, she's been yearning for it, not knowing if she was ever going to get the chance to actually see it again. Steve made it his mission, right then and there, to make sure she got that chance. 

 That chance… that was right within reach. All that was between them was a few steps, a note, and some coins. And that was it. 

 They walked up the steps like they were either walking up to their own funeral, or to the pearly gates. This was their salvation-- or maybe, their undoing. They hadn't talked to anyone since escaping their properties, but this interaction was necessary. They just had to trust the coins, the note, and of course, the fact that they were strangers to these men. These men let unescorted slaves to Midgard all the time, what would they do? Detain them? When they had no reason not to believe their story? When detaining them would mean sending for their masters, who would most likely arrive and yell at Thor and Heimdall for fucking up their schedule? No, they wouldn't detain them. Not without just cause. Not without knowing them.

 Steve and Natasha stopped in front of the wooden door, taking a moment to share their gaze. This was it; the end or the beginning. And with that, they pushed the doors open. 

 Immediately, Steve knew it was a mistake. When they opened the doors, they were greeted to the posters, the fireplace, the easy chairs the two men sat upon. The problem was, the two men sitting there weren't Thor and Heimdall, like they'd planned for. Instead, Thor was absent, and in his place sat a painfully familiar man with gray around his temples, stormy blue eyes, and a red cloak. 

 "Oh, Steve, Natasha," Doctor Strange greeted, smiling like he already knew they were up to no good even though they hadn't yet said a word. "Tell me, what are you two doing here?"

  
  


\----------------------

  
  


 Steve was going to scream. Or pee his pants. Maybe both. At the same time. While crying like a little baby.

 He did not end up screaming, or peeing, or performing any other bodily function. In fact, he didn't do anything at all, standing stock still in the middle of the room, probably looking more guilty than if he were wearing an orange jumpsuit with his mugshot stapled to the back. 

 Strange  _ knew  _ Bucky. He  _ knew _ how neurotic, how possessive he was,  _ knew _ that he would never, ever let Steve go. And, even worse, he was in a  _ romantic relationship  _ with Natasha's master, meaning he sure as hell knew that she wasn't going to allow a recently acquired, troubled slave to cross into Midgard unaccompanied. 

 Fuck.  _ Fuck.  _ There would be no Peter and MJ, no hot cocoa, no petty fights with Gamora. They were done; they had lost. They would be restrained, and they would have to wait here, in this tiny building, until their masters could retrieve them. 

 A wave of nausea hit when Steve realized what that entailed. Strange's eyes were on Natasha, so focused it was almost scary. Surely, Wanda let him do what he pleased with her. That meant that he would probably have no qualms with taking her right here, right now, with Steve tied up in the corner hearing,  _ watching  _ this horrific man assault his  _ longest held friend _ \-- 

 "Steve," Natasha mumbled. "Didn't Bucky give you a letter?" 

 Oh, fuck him, they were going through with this? What was the point? They'd already lost. "Um, yeah. Yeah, it's right… here." He ripped it out of his pocket so quickly he almost ripped the actual paper, before giving it to Heimdall, hoping he'd have more mercy than Strange. Heimdall read it carefully, frowning a few times before passing the note over to Strange, who read it too. 

 "The handwritting's sloppy," Heimdall mentioned idly as Strange finished it. "There are parts that are practically illegible." 

 Strange sighed, gesturing at the letter at random. "Yes, yes. I know his master, it's Barnes, also of Midgard. He's ex-military, has got the most awful tremor in his hand. My birthday card last year was probably very nice, but I could hardly read it." 

 Steve frowned. Strange was… what? Steve still didn't know, though he did know one thing for sure: Bucky had the steadiest hands he'd ever seen.

 "Could it have been faked?" Heimdall asked, glancing at Natasha and Steve with his analyzing golden eyes. 

 Strange shook his head easily. "How could they fake it? It's in Russian." He folded the note, setting it aside casually before referring to Steve and Natasha directly. "It says here that you desire passage to Midgard; do you have the coins?" 

 Steve was still so flabbergasted he needed a nudge from Natasha to jump into motion. "Um, yeah, here. Bucky-- um, my Master, Barnes, gave me this to give to you. I hope it's, um, enough." 

 "You wouldn't know enough if it hit you over the head," Strange said, tone suddenly condescending. "Come here boy, give me the movie." 

 Steve did, stepping back as soon as possible. He watched Strange pull out each individual coin, looking them over like they might have been faked. When finished, he handed the coins over to Heimdall, and looked at the two slaves expectantly. "Now, what time will you be back by?" 

 "Sunset," Steve and Natasha said in unison, the lie they'd already agreed on. 

 "And do you have proper clothing for blending in on Midgard?"

 Steve pulled on his hoodie, showing how it covered his harness. Natasha pulled on a normal shirt, covering her own red leather harness. 

 "Good, good," Strange said, referring to his notes. "It looks like--"

 "I don't like this," Heimdall complained, looking them over wearily. "This is highly irregular. Your masters should be here for your first independent trip. I think we should--"

 "Oh, no, I've got this one," Strange interrupted. "It is unusual circumstances, I will grant you that. So I suppose it is good that I'm here today, in Thor's place, because as I mentioned, Barnes and I are quite close acquaintances. He's a great man, truly, but he does have some significant… anxiety issues." He says this causally, lightly, like if he makes his voice just the right level of soft Steve won't hear him. "Agoraphobia. It just so happens he's been having a relapse, and it isn't a disorder that likes to be messed with, I'm afraid. If I had to guess, I'd say his slave here is going to Midgard to get something special for his master, isn't that right?" 

 He gave Steve such a sharp look he couldn't even  _ fathom  _ going blank for this question. "Yes sir," he answered, hoping Heimdall didn't pick up on how uncomfortable he was. "I'm getting him, um. Coffee." 

 It was the first thing that came to mind, probably because both times they'd visited Midgard they got coffee. Strange's eyebrow raise told him he wasn't impressed with the lie, but he rolled with it anyways. "Yes, I'm sure that will make him feel much better. Heimdall, do you see any other issues, or may we commence?"

 Heimdall looked hesitant, but some sort of mysterious force kept him from saying  _ no, they're liars.  _ Instead, he reluctantly shook his head. "No, I suppose that's it. And you comfortable finishing the transaction?"

 "I'm quite comfortable, yes."

 "Then I'll go check in the shed to see if we still have chess. I'll be back in a minute." 

 Strange dismissed him easily, still smiling until he left, closing the door behind him. Then the smile was gone, and he was on his feet, tapping on a few buttons. "Which one of you wrote that god awful letter?"

 "It was Steve," Natasha supplied after the smallest pause. 

 Strange grunted. "I can't say I'm surprised. Your grammatical structure was miserable, absolutely miserable. I thought I was going to cry reading it."

 Steve clenched his fists. "Why--" 

 "We don't have much time," Strange observed, checking his watch. He pressed another button, and the fire blazed yellow for just a second before returning to it's normal hues. "So, I'm going to keep this quick. Good luck. Wanda and I wish you both well; and, I believe Barnes does too. Not in the same way certainly, and he will most definitely chase after you as soon as he's able to, but he is my friend, and I know he does care for you. But if you want him to keep from catching you, you'd better start running." 

 Steve's brain still felt like lukewarm pudding, but Natasha burst into action, leaping towards him and kissing his cheek with an almost silent "Thank you. For everything." Then she was grabbing Steve's hand in a vice grip, and together they ran into the fire. 

  
  


\---------------------

 The fireplace spat them out in the weird, purple mushroom world that laid between their planets. Steve landed hard on his hands and knees, but scrambled up, and, still clutching each other's hands, they ran. They ran like their lives depended on it, which is very well might have. Now, the game was getting away from Bucky. He would wake up eventually.  _ He would wake up eventually.  _

__ Still, Steve couldn't stop himself from saying "What the Hell was that?!"

 "The Hell was what?" Natasha asked, her face back to the mask of perfect focus. 

 "Strange! I-- I saw him touch you, after the poker thing. He was taking you to his room to-- to--" 

 "To fuck me?" Natasha suggested, like the idea was ridiculous. "He didn't fuck me, Steve. He had me mess up my hair and clothes a bit, and then took a nap while I watched. Every time he talked about me, looked at me, it was all a lie. He never touched me." 

 The idea was so surreal Steve couldn't help exclaiming "What? Why not?"

 "Because he's a good person! Now come on Steve, stop asking questions and  _ run!" _

 Steve followed her advice. Minutes upon minutes passed until finally, finally they were at the door leading to Midgard. Natasha let go of his hand to slam the door open, and they stepped out on Earth, the air fresh and cool and surreal, and  _ God,  _ they were  _ here,  _ they  _ made it.  _

 Natasha kept jogging, head swiveling as she looked for something specific. Finally, she found it and knelt next to a tree, digging underneath it with her bare hands until she managed to pull out a ziplock bag with a piece of paper inside. Steve wasn't quite sure what they were until Natasha hissed "Directions to the safehouse!" and Steve realized that ziplock bag wasn't made of plastic, but solid gold. 

_ The safehouse.  _

_  The others.  _

 The safehouse was nearly five hours away on foot, and they ran as long as they could, but eventually had to give in to walking. But they kept going, because it they stopped, they'd be found, and then they'd be as good as dead. 

 Finally, when the sun was almost completely set, they found themselves approaching a little cabin. It was old, almost looking abandoned if it weren't for the lights on inside. 

 "It can't be this place," Steve muttered, because surely,  _ surely  _ not. 

 "This is what the directions said," Natasha said, her version of  _ shut up and trust that I know what I'm doing.  _ "Do you wanna knock?"

 Steve swallowed the lump in his throat. He was cold from the lack of sun, sweaty from the exercise, exhausted from the emotions, and weak from all of that, plus everything else, combined. If this wasn't their house, he was going to cry. "No." 

 Natasha seemed to make a few minor adjustments too, tucking her hair behind her ear, wetting her lips, breathing in. "Fine. I'll do it, then."

 "Okay." 

 Steve crossed his arms, waiting a pace back as Natasha approached the door, knocking pleasantly. She stepped back, hands clenched at her sides.

 There were some noises inside, footsteps, but the door didn't open yet. Steve tried to swallow his disappointment. "They probably moved somewhere else. Maybe there's a clue somewhere around here."

 "Yeah," Natasha said, like such a fate would be worse than death. "Maybe."

 Before Steve could reply, there was the sound of someone unlocking multiple fixtures, and the door slammed open. There stood Peter; curly hair a mess, eyebags deep as a swimming pool, but warm brown eyes huge and very, very present. "They're here!" He yelled, and then, unable to contain himself, "They're here!" 

 "They're here?" Someone from inside called, and then another person: "They're here!" 

  
 Hearing their voices again was the emotional equivalent of an entire mountain range crumbling into the sea. Steve threw himself forwards, into the first pair of arms he could, which was of course, Peter. Peter grabbed him back, babbling about how happy he was and how he wasn't sure if he'd ever see them again, and  _ Steve, Steve, Steve, I can't believe it, I can't believe you're here,  _ and Steve couldn't either, couldn't believe it  _ worked _ and he was  _ out  _ and he was on  _ Earth  _ and nothing would ever, ever be the same again, but everyone was here and he was  _ free  _ and in that moment, that was the only thing that mattered. Just that. That was it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!  
> In this chapter:  
> \- Steve was forced to deal with his choices, and decide between resistance and complacency  
> \- Steve dealt with Fenris ('hes just a puppy!')  
> \- Steve met up with Nat and went to the portal  
> \- EVERYTHING with DoCtoR StRaNgE  
> \- The escape to Earth, and finally,  
> \- The reunion
> 
> The full reunion will be included in the beginning of the next chapter. Just so you know, this is not the conclusion-- we still have a bit of plot to go ;) hang in there.
> 
> I would like to give a shout out to all 10 MILLION of you who commented about doctor strange and how you thought he was a good guy, but now you hate him. I would especially like to give shout outs to the person who proclaimed in an earlier chapter that you hoped Strange would die, because of how much you hated him, and the anon from a few chapters again, who was sad because (and I quote): "I really thought Wanda and Strange would end up aiding in Steve and Nat's escape". 
> 
> I have known that Strange would end up doing this for most of this book, and it has been SO HARD not spoiling anything. Anyways, I hope you liked it :)
> 
> For this chapter, I really want to hear what you think specifically about the beginning of the chapter (with Steve trying to decide what to do) and with strange. Were you surprised by any of it? Let me know in the comments!


	41. The Trash

 Steve and Natasha were, for lack of a better word, dragged inside the cabin. Steve was still hugging Peter when Peter swiveled them around and kicked the door closed, but Steve didn’t care.  _ God.  _

 Sometimes, when Steve had been bored, Bucky let him watch Sam’s videos. Steve watched Peter play cute, watched him flirt, watched him take cock. But this… this Peter was different from that one. This Peter seemed taller, almost, bigger, a little more built. He had deep eye bags and long eyelashes that were brown, not black, and Steve realized for a giddy moment that that must have meant that Sam  _ made Peter wear mascara,  _ which was such a weird thought that Steve couldn’t help choking out a laugh. 

 He and Peter pulled away from the half-embrace they’d been sharing, just in time for a voice to bellow  _ “Steve!” _ Steve turned and was immediately met with the full force of a charging Pietro, who grabbed him in his arms and  _ picked him up off the ground.  _ His hold was like a vise, and Steve let out another laugh at the randomness of it. “Gosh Pietro, I didn’t think you cared.”

 Pietro dropped him unceremoniously, blue eyes going all big. “What? Why would you think that? I thought— I mean, we all thought— what are the odds? We’re here, and you’re here, and we all made it. Who ever thought this could  _ happen _ ?”

 “Definitely not me,” a new voice said, and Steve turned, jaw dropping when he saw who it was. Gamora stood two paces away, skin a light, dewy green, hair falling in waves on her shoulders. A mauve shirt was stretched over her breasts— which were bigger than before, Steve couldn’t help but notice— and her very,  _ very  _ pregnant stomach. 

 Steve blinked a few times. He knew, logically, that as her pregnancy progressed she would begin to look really, well, pregnant, but somehow in all of the drama with the escape, he’d forgotten that she’d look  _ different.  _ And yet, here she was, a hand placed gently over the bump protectively. “Gamora… you look… you’re… you’re  _ huge!” _

__ Peter made a choking sound behind Steve, but Gamora just snorted, the corner of her mouth rising. “Yeah. They say that’s what happens when you’re really fucking pregnant, but what do they know anyways?”

 “What do they know?” Steve agreed, a little breathless. 

 Gamora’s expression dropped a little as she scanned over Steve, then Natasha. Her eyes darted around a little more, like she was looking for something that wasn’t there. Or, rather, some _ one _ .

 She swallowed, and Steve could see how much she didn’t want to say what she said next. “Nebula?”

 Behind him, Natasha inhaled pointedly through her nose. It was a much more restrained action than the one Steve was currently considering taking, which involved jumping through a window and praying he’d land wrong and break his neck, so he wouldn’t have to be a part of this conversation. Because of course, when Gamora and the others escaped, Nebula was supposed to go with them. But she didn’t. Because Loki had caught her, and—

 “I’m sorry,” Natasha said, genuine empathy in her voice. It was answer enough to unasked question. 

 Gamora nodded, like it’s what she expected. Her gaze didn’t drop for a second, and she continued scanning over them like there was something to find. Her gaze landed on Steve, and she asked another one word question that spoke for itself: “How?”

 Steve instantly found himself spinning a lie: Nebula wasn’t dead, she was just with another master. She escaped on her own and Steve didn’t know where. She said to tell Gamora she loved her. She said to tell Gamora she was sorry. She said to tell Gamora not to look for her, she needed time, she needed to become her own person, needed to, to, to—

 “She was killed by Loki,” Natasha said, cold and brutal. “Well, actually Sam. Loki gave him the gun. It happened right after your escape. She said… um, she said…”

 “She said that she loved you,” Steve lied, trying uselessly to soften the blow. “She was glad she didn’t have to… deal with it all anymore.”

 Gamora's eyes were like knives. She tilted her head, assessing Steve, then announced “You're lying.”

 Natasha sent Steve a quick look, like  _ don’t. Just. Don’t.  _ “You’re right, that’s not what she said. She was, um… very spiteful. She told Sam that she wanted him to think of her blood staining the floor the next time he tried to get off.”

 Gamora nodded, eyes a little watery. “That’s more like it. She is— she  _ was  _ such a dramatic bitch.” Something in Gamora seemed to crumble, and she rushed forwards and was quickly intercepted by Natasha. They crumpled to the ground, wrapped as tightly around each other as they could with the baby bump, and Gamora sniffled, trying hard to contain herself. “I miss her so much.”

 “I’m sorry,” Natasha muttered. “I’m sorry.”

 “But at the same time,” Gamora said, voice getting pitchy as she contained fighting off tears, “At the same time, I’m  _ so glad  _ you’re here. And I missed you, too. I’m just— God,  _ fuck.  _ I hate this so much, and I, I don’t. I’m pregnant and I’m crazy and my sister is  _ dead,  _ and just… God.” She buried her face in Natasha’s shoulder, letting the tears flow freely. Natasha rested her chin on her head, her own cheeks damp. 

 Steve turned around, trying to give them a little privacy. 

 “So,” Pietro started, “What happened after we left?”

 Steve licked his lips nervously. “Well. First of all, your master is a  _ fucking nut.” _

__ Pietro broke into laughter. “I could’ve told you that. Also, I know you’re new here, but he’s not my master anymore.”

 And then Steve was crying too. They were free. They were so goddamn free. They were  _ free.  _

  
  


—————————

  
  


 They went into the living room to catch up a bit. Peter stayed pretty quiet, looking almost like he was praying, but Pietro was happy to talk and ask questions and make faces at everything Steve said. He kept the story brief— the others escaped, everyone freaked out, Nebula died, Steve was kept on house arrest, Natasha was relocated to Wanda’s custody, etc etc. He was at about that point when Pietro reached over, brushing his hand against Steve’s neck. It was such an intimate gesture that Steve was in no way prepared for, so Steve just sort of short circuited, twitching and going quite, letting Pietro touch him how he liked. 

 “A harness,” Pietro noted. 

 “Ye-yeah. The harnesses don’t have the tracking or alarm systems. We found a loophole.”

 Pietro just shook his head, unbelieving. There was some genuine hurt there, but Steve didn’t ask. “And the tattoo?”

 Steve winced. “It’s courtesy of your m— your  _ old  _ master. Loki got power hungry, yada yada. He told everyone that they should tattoo their slaves again in a more obvious place. It’s this whole method of humiliation that leads to—”

 “Oh, don’t worry, I know his habits,” Pietro interrupted. “It’s fine. Shuri can get the harness off, and she’s been giving all of us cover up jobs. I’m sure she can do the same with you.”

 “That’d be great,” Steve said softly. Pietro’s hand was still on his neck, rubbing the skin there soothingly. Steve found himself reaching over, pressing his thumb to Pietro’s neck and dragging it down. No collar. It was a good look on him. “Where is Shuri?”

 Steve had been wondering, and now he watched Pietro’s face carefully, looking for any signs of the unthinkable. But Pietro just waved his hand. “She’s at work. She nabbed a job at this research facility? She’s doing pretty cheap labor, but it’s got room for advancement and she’s building again, so she likes it.” 

 Steve nodded. “And MJ?” 

 Pietro kept eye contact with Steve, tilting his head to the side. Steve followed the gesture until his eyes landed on MJ, standing by the ratty dining table. He hadn’t heard her at all, and she wasn’t there when he came in. “Hey,” Steve said, getting to his feet and opening his arms for a hug. MJ looked  _ terrible _ , her hair dirty and her eyes heavy. “How have you been do—”

 “No hug,” she said quickly, holding her hand up in an unmissable gesture. “I, um. I’m not so good with touch anymore.”

 Oh.  _ Oh.  _

__ “That’s fine,” Steve said, lowering his hands and adjusting his position to make sure he was giving her enough space. “How are you?”

 She crinkled her nose, like she needed to sneeze, but was unable to. “I… I’m tired. Real tired. I think I’m going to go back to bed, actually. It was nice seeing you.”

 “You too—”

 And then she was gone, quietly clicking her bedroom door closed. 

 Pietro gave Steve an apologetic look, but didn’t offer any form of explanation. 

  
  


————————

  
  


 Steve was given the brief tour of the house. It was small, ratty, and they were technically staying in it illegally. Steve’s fantasies of a big, beautiful place where they all drank hot chocolate and laughed seemed to be just that, a fantasy. But for the most part, they were alright. The house had one floor, which included a tiny living room, a tinier kitchen, and three teeny-tiny bedrooms . Shuri and MJ shared a room, which worked because Shuri left early for work and MJ was a pretty quiet sleeper. Gamora and Peter also shared a room, which Steve very purposefully did not ask about. Pietro had his own room. 

 Around then, Shuri got home, and everyone freaked out a little more. Shuri allowed herself a solid minute of talking to them and finding out what she missed before going to her room and coming back with a pair of heavy duty wire cutters and some safety scissors. “I can get your harnesses off now,” she said, directing Steve to turn around so she could get a good angle. A few moments later, the entire harness was falling to the floor, just some strips of leather now. It was strange how such little material could make Steve feel so trapped. His neck felt so...  _ exposed _ without it. 

 Steve would get used to it, though. He would gladly get used to it. No more collars, no more leashes. No more bondage. No more orders. 

 No more  _ Bucky.  _

__ And that hurt something deep, deep in Steve’s chest, but he managed to push it away. “Shuri, could I borrow those wire cutters for a minute?”

 “Sure.”

 “And Pietro, would you mind helping me with something? It’s pretty nasty.”

 Pietro sighed, and stood. “Nasty, huh? Sounds right up my alley.”

 Pietro brought Steve to his room, which he would now be sharing. Steve considered explaining the situation, then decided there were more direct ways to go about it and dropped trou, letting Pietro figure it out for himself.

 “Ah,” Pietro said when he processed the chunk of metal wrapped around Steve’s cock. “I think I can help.”

 With some careful manipulation, and lots of erogenous touching later, Steve was freed from the cage. “Thanks.”

 “No prob. I hate those things.”

  
  


——————————

 Steve slept in Pietro’s bed with him. Pietro snored, and Steve dreamed of Bucky fucking him until he couldn’t speak. Then he woke up, like nothing happened. Maybe nothing happened. 

 Shuri started drawing a cover up piece for Steve’s neck tattoo before she left for work the next morning. He’d need one for the back one too, but otherwise the other ones could stay. Most of them were his designs anyways. 

 Natasha and Steve did their best to integrate into the pre-established routines. Eventually, they’d have to get jobs, but they got a grace period while they settled in. Steve didn’t know how long that grace period was, but Peter reassured him not to worry about it. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

 Steve found himself curled up on the couch with Peter that next morning, something poking up from under Peter’s shirt caught his eye, and before Steve could stop himself, he was pulling the thin, rounded collar out. It was like a nightmare; one of Steve’s worst fears for Peter was that he wouldn’t be happy with his freedom, that something would make him want to go back. It was a completely ridiculous notion, and Steve accepted that— Peter didn’t even like Sam— but still, for a few guilty seconds, Steve thinks that’s the case, like Peter chose to keep his collar for sentimental reasons, or some shit like that. 

 Peter seems to follow Steve’s train of thought, and he pulls away from Steve’s touch, fingering the collar gingerly. “This one is different from the others. It doesn’t have a locking mechanism because it was welded on. Shuri’s still trying to figure out a way to get it off?”

 Steve chose his next few words carefully. “Do you… mind it?”

 Peter scowled. “I hate the thing. It’s like— it’s like, I got out, right? I escaped, whoopee. I’m free. Except I’m not, because this  _ thing  _ is still here, this symbol of my servitude or whatever, and… it’s like Sam still owns me. Like, no matter how far I run, he’s still  _ there.  _ It’s like I’ll never truly escape him.”

 Steve sighed and flopped against Peter, taking liberties and getting all up in Peter’s personal space like they used to. “I’m sorry.”

 “It’s fine. Nothing you could do about it.”

 “Still.”

 Steve tangled his fingers with Peter’s, rubbing the back of his hand with his thumb. “It’ll get better. Pinky promise.”

 “Hey, you’re the one who escaped just yesterday. I should be consoling you, not the other way around.”

 Steve grunted. “Let’s not. I’m much happier when dealing with your problems than when dealing with my own.”

 Peter laughed. “How about this for problems: MJ and I have spoken about two words in the past month, Gamora has declared me the babies honorary father, and I can’t even get it up anymore.”

 Steve pushed himself up a little, giving Peter a look. “What do you mean you can’t get it up? Didn’t you used to have sex like, five times a day?”

 “Guess I overexerted myself,” Peter said self-deprecatingly. 

 “But you can’t get it up at all? Not even to masturbate?”

 Peter shook his head. “I can get it up, but it doesn’t stay. It doesn’t matter, I don't need sex. I’ve never needed sex. That was all…” Peter paused, swallowing painfully. “That was all Sam.”

 The name hung in the air. Steve replayed his own memories, Sam smiling at him, Sam joking at him, Sam beating him. And those memories, of course, just led to ones about Bucky. Steve remembered the way Bucky’s mouth tasted, the way his moans sounded. How he got excited over fashion, and talked to Steve about it like it was an art that Steve just  _ didn’t get.  _ Steve remembered how he touched him; reverently, like Steve was something of value, of worth. And other ways, too. Bruisingly, though Steve never really minded those bruises. Sweetly. Light smacks in retaliation to Steve’s dumb jokes. Pinches. Prods. Pokes. Gropes. Kisses. 

 It was Peter’s voice that brought Steve back to reality; soft, sincere, apologetic. “Steve,” Peter whispered. “It wasn’t worth it.”

 And then the other memories came back; the fish tank and the dog and the punishments, the way the collars seemed to squeeze Steve’s throat and never release. Bucky dragged Steve kicking and screaming into bed with him when he was sick, ignoring every fucking thing Steve had said about being weak, and the pretended to be surprised when Steve  _ didn’t get better.  _ Steve almost overdosed on pills at the Solstice party and instead of helping Steve sleep it off, Bucky fucked him, only giving up  _ after _ Steve passed out. Bucky tried so, so hard to trap Steve. He isolated him. He forbade him from learning the language, forbade him from understanding the currency, locked him inside, tied him up and  _ left the house,  _ told him  _ get on your knees  _ and  _ if you don’t shut up I’ll gag you.  _ Steve stepped out of line and Bucky locked him up. 

 Peter was watching Steve intently, no doubt watching the different variations of anger and humiliation pass across his face. And Peter… Peter’d been there for it  _ all.  _ Well, not all of it, not technically, but he saw a lot, he heard the stories, he could out the pieces together. How many times had Peter gone to a party only to find Steve chained up at his master’s feet, gagged, blinded, bound? How many times had Peter said  _ I want to make you feel good  _ and Steve  _ No, I can’t, he won’t let me _ ? 

 Gamora called for Peter from the kitchen, and Oeter squeezed Steve’s hand once before getting up to attend to her, leaving Steve cold and alone on the couch. He stayed there for a moment, marinating in his self-loathing, before getting up and going to his shared room. He didn’t mean to slam the door, but he was pretty sure it sounded like that. He turned on the light. No one came for him. They were going to let him do this, let him mourn for the pieces of him that were lost. He needed to mourn. 

 Across from the bed was a full-length mirror, propped against the wall. Steve found himself standing in front of it, and then he was yanking his shirt off, dropping his pants. He clutched at his skin, clutched at his bones, clutched at the flared fucking end of his  _ ribs, goddamnit goddamnit goddamnit!  _ He remembered the first day. He remembered how fucking scared he was. He was tired, his feet bruised, burning up from the sun, and masked man bought him without one  _ fucking word,  _ pulling him behind him in the streets. Everyone was bigger than Steve. Everyone was crowding around him, closing him in, suffocating—

 And then he was in the house, in the fish bowl. The  _ fish bowl.  _ Bucky was full of  _ shit.  _ He claimed that he never wanted a slave. Never thought about it. Never would have considered it. Except he bought a house  _ made  _ to ensnare. Every day, he must have walked past that glass wall and look at the empty bed, the empty drawers. Thought  _ I don’t want a slave. I don’t want a slave.  _ Thought  _ I don’t want to be like them. I don’t want to be like Hydra.  _

But he still _bought_ the _fucking_ _house._

 And then he bought Steve, brought him to the house, brought him to the room, stripped him down. Bucky dressed in black leather and had an arm made out of metal, and when he told Steve  _ come here  _ and  _ take off your clothes  _ Steve listened. And Bucky touched him, he ran his hands over his torso and let them come to a stop at Steve’s flared fucking ribs, squeezing them lightly and accusing Steve of not eating enough. He’d only learned Steve’s name thirty seconds before, and he thought he had the right to tell Steve how to stop living. 

 Eventually, things became sexual. Steve even liked it, sometimes. But before that, Steve was just supposed to be a labor slave. That’s what he was told, that’s what he clung onto, and in the end, it didn’t even matter. 

 He remembered getting dressed for some of those early parties, how Bucky would sometimes tie him down to make the process easier. He dressed him in panties and cocksleeves, touching and fondling him without a care in the world because Steve was just a slave. Steve couldn’t report him or punish him. He couldn’t even fight back. 

 In the safehouse, standing in front of the mirror, Steve grabbed at his skin, digging his nails in painfully. A dark spot caught his eyes, and suddenly he was staring at that goddamn tattoo on his neck. Shuri had said something about flowers to cover it up, but things like that took time and so it was  _ still there.  _ And not just that one; Steve turned, staring at the ink marring his back like he was seeing it for the first time. Flowers and letters and wolves heads, snarling at each other on his shoulder blade. The back of his hair was carved into a point. His skin was adorned, his ears were adorned, his  _ nipples  _ were adorned. 

 And the whole time, Bucky had had the  _ audacity  _ to make it seem like Steve’s choice. 

 Steve dragged in the wastebasket from the bathroom, setting it in front of the mirror. He took out the ear piercings first, trying to get hands to stop shaking long enough for him to undo the tiny little screws. They went straight in the trash, no hesitation, no memorial. The nipple piercings were supposed to come next, but Steve got distracted by a pair of scissors sitting on the makeshift dresser. The next thing he knew, he was cutting his hair. Bucky had let the top grow long and had the sides shaved down, but Steve had always liked it closer to the same length. He hacked at his hair in great big chunks, and then when it was about the right length he tried trimming it up, making himself look presentable. It didn’t work. He still looked like trash. Still looked like something that had jut crawled out of a hole in the ground after sleeping for nearly a year. And, in a way, he had. 

 Steve was just trying to figure out the nipple piercings when the door opened, and Pietro hesitated, seeming to realize that Steve was having a moment. He pushed the door almost shut, but not all the way. He wasn’t locking Steve in. Steve appreciated it. 

 Pietro walked in slow, big steps, like he didn’t want to startle the angry creature Steve had become. When he got close, he gestured to Steve’s nipple piercings, but didn’t touch. “Didn’t know you had those done.”

 “Wasn’t my choice,” Steve grunted. It felt good just saying it. 

 “Looks painful,” Pietro decided, not sounding particularly upset about it. “Did they ever feel good?”

 “Did they ever feel good,” Steve repeated. He knew what it meant, but in his current frame of mind, just the idea of it feeling  _ good  _ was beyond him. 

 “Yeah, you know. When Bucky pulled them, or licked them.”

 Steve laughed a little, sharp and bitter. “He never  _ licked  _ them.”

 Pietro glanced down into the trash can, where Steve’s other piercings could be just barely seen beneath the tufts of blond hair. It was clear what Steve’s next move would be, and Steve puffed his chest out a little, not trying to hide. 

 Pietro nodded, slowly. “I’ve heard it feels good.”

 “It would make sense.”

 “You want to try it?”

 Steve considered answering verbally, but ended up deciding against it. Pietro was one of his people, and his people had never enjoyed the virtue of verbal consent. So instead, Steve jutted his chest out even further, stepping into Pietro’s space and rubbing against him, just a little. “Don’t be gentle,” Steve warned. 

 “I’m not a gentle person.”

 As if to prove himself, Pietro kicked the wastebasket out of the way, taking Steve by his hips and shoving him against the mirror. Steve barely had time to brace himself before Pietro’s mouth was on him, licking around the piercing and sucking his nipple like he was hoping to get something out of it. He pinched Steve’s other nipple between his fingers, being rough enough with his hand to make it hurt while he soothed with he mouth. He pulled away right as Steve was arching his back, and then switched, soothing the burning nipple while twisting the other. Steve moaned, unabashed. How dare Bucky withhold this from him. How dare he. 

 When Pietro came up for air, Steve grabbed him by the back of his neck and hauled him into a kiss. For a second, Pietro overbalanced, smushing Steve harder against the mirror, before stumbling backwards, taking Steve with him. Steve went, giddy, and they crashed onto the bed, still kissing as they rolled over each other. Pietro threw something at the door and it hit with a bang, slamming the door all the way shut and giving them a window of much deserved privacy. This was  _ theirs.  _ No one would stop them; they could fuck for hours if they wanted, they could fuck for days. 

 Pietro pinned Steve down, straddling him as he pulled off his own shirt. Steve wiggled out of his pants, throwing them without care where they ended up. Then Pietro was sucking on his teats again, mean and reckless, tugging the piercings between his teeth and making Steve feel it deep in his core. Steve let himself give into it for a few long, beautiful moments, before shoving Pietro off and directing him to go down. Pietro did enthusiastically, and when his mouth wrapped around Steve’s cock Steve felt his vision momentarily white out.

 “I bet he never did this either,” Pietro said, popping off for a moment, panting almost as hard as Steve was. “A lot of masters don’t. They say they want to make you feel good, but there is a line they won’t cross, and that line is  _ submission.” _

 “I hope you don’t mind this,” Steve murmured out, voice low with lust. His tone were teasing, but his words were sincere. Luckily, Pietro only cocked a smile. 

 “Trust me, I’m a big boy. I know how to say no.”

 Steve’s chuckle turned into a gasp when Pietro sucked him all the way down, working him over like he was a shoe Pietro was trying to polish. Steve started getting antsy, though, and he reached behind him to stick a finger in himself. 

 Pietro pulled off just long enough to say “vaseline on the nightstand” before swallowing Steve back down. 

 Steve got the Vaseline and slicked his fingers up before getting to work, opening him up to two fingers in hardly no time at all. Pietro showed his knack for efficiency when he stole some of the slick off of Steve’s remaining fingers and plunged one of his own digits into Steve’s helping him along. Steve yelled, but it wasn’t in pain. 

 Then finally, finally, Steve was open enough to be comfortable. That didn’t mean much; Pietro was the perfect size, but enough to deserve a stretch but small enough to remain comfortable. He and Steve swapped positions, so Pietro was laying on his back, positing his cock while Steve slowly sunk down onto him. 

 They didn’t care about the noise, or the shaking of the bed, or anything else. They’d  _ earned  _ this. This was all theirs.

 Steve rode Pietro, bouncing up and down with as much force as he could manage. Pietro ended up pulling him down into a bruising kiss, biting his lip so hard Steve tasted blood, but Steve couldn’t care less. Then Pietro took Steve’s hands and brought them to his pierced nipples, directing him “They’re yours, aren’t they? Prove it to me.”

When Steve eventually came, it was to the feeling of his own hands on his nipples and Pietro’s cock nailing his prostate. It was so good that Steve had the briefest moment of fury, that they’d never been allowed to do this before. As soon as Steve had come, Pietro pulled out, not forcing him into oversensitivity and instead jerking off into his own fist until he came to completion not a minute later. They both flopped against the mattress, sweaty and breathing heavily, but feeling better than Steve had in years. 

——————————

 Pietro opted to shower after that, but Steve had no one to impress, so instead he gave himself a spot bath and called it a day. He stood in front of the mirror, then, looking at himself again. Shorter hair, fading bruises on his neck from his collars, and of course, swollen nipples, from the rough play. Steve took a moment to appreciate them before taking them out and tossing them in the trash. It felt good when Pietro played with them, even good when it was Steve pinched and pulling, but they weren’t his. Piece by piece, he would reclaim his body, even if it was the last thing he ever did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The official chapter count is up!
> 
> In this chapter, we had:  
> \- reunions (especially between Steve/Peter, Steve/Pietro, and Natasha/Gamora)  
> \- catching up (with what had been happening with Steve as well as how the others *cough MJ* were coping with their freedom)  
> \- anger and memories (and memory-fueled-anger)  
> \- self-reclaiming  
> and of course   
> \- sMoOT 
> 
> Shoutout to jadenray64 for inspiring a ~specific scene in this chapter~ (I think you know which one). 
> 
> I can’t wait to hear what you guys think! Also, since we are getting down to the very end of this fic, please let me know if there are any characaters you would really like to get more scenes with! 
> 
> That is all~   
> New update coming soon <3


	42. The Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second to last chapter!!!
> 
> A million thanks to JadenRay64 for helping me edit! I swear, I had done the draft for this like five days ago, but it took forever to edit. I am super happy with how it turned out, though, and I hope you enjoy this (extra long) chapter!!!

**Bucky**

 Bucky woke up and immediately wanted to pass out again. He wasn’t sure when the last time was that he felt this bad, his head pounding, heart racing, stomach churning. On impulse, he rolled over to the side as he began to gag, and almost vomited before managing to stop himself.

 He gasped, squeezing his eyes shut to try and stave off the migraine. “Steve,” he mumbled. “Stevie, get in here. I need… nausea pills, top, top right corner of my medicine cabinet. Go quick.” He gritted his teeth, thumping his forehead onto the ground like that might help. The pounding was so loud he couldn’t hear Steve’s footsteps.

 Bucky tried to force himself to wait, to be patient. Steve was getting his pills. He’d get him water, help him onto the couch, and together, once this agony _stopped,_ they’d figure out what happened.

 Finally, Bucky couldn’t wait any longer. He pushed himself to his elbows, baring his teeth and yelling “Go fucking faster!”

 It was then that he saw the open sliding glass door, and knew exactly what happened.

  


———————

**Steve**

 At 7:30 am on the 6th of August, Peter left to go on a day trip to another city, with plans to return the next day. At 10:30 am of the same day, Gamora went into labor.

 Everyone bustled around, desperate to get everything ready while Gamora just laid on her bed and stared at the wall behind her. She was sweating, her neck wet with it and her palms clammy. Steve, for lack of a better way to help, was holding her hand.

 “You excited?” He asked, so quiet it was almost a whisper.

 Gamora didn’t look at him, but her eyes fluttered closed in what might have been another contraction. They were getting closer. “I am.”

 At the foot of the bed, Shuri clicked her timer. Steve waited, counting in his head, until Gamora finally relaxed, eyes opening.

 Steve gave her a teasing little smile. “You ready for a cute little green baby?”

 Gamora shook her head, a single tear falling from her eye and dripping off her cheek. “No. All this time, they’ve just been in my stomach… but they’re real, aren’t they? I’ve got a little baby boy or girl, and in a few hours, I’m going to get to meet them. Assuming… assuming I don’t fuck this up.”

 “You won’t,” Steve promised. “You’re going to be a great mom.”

 Gamora’s eyes grew heavy, and she looked like she might cry when her face crumbled in pain, her breath getting labored.

 “I feel like your contractions are too close together,” Shuri said, sounding worried.

 “That’s not a contraction,” Gamora said, looking dizzy. “I just felt my damn _cervix_ dilate.”

 “I want to check it,” Shuri insisted, giving Gamora a meaningful look. “Maybe some people should go out into the living room.”

 “God, I wish Peter was here,” Gamora exhaled. “Fine. Shuri, Natasha and Steve can stay, but only if Steve gets me some water.”

 “Yes ma’am.”

  


——————————

  


The process was long, arduous, and much more violent than Steve was expecting. Finally, when Gamora started getting _extremely vocal_ about her pain at about hour 8, Steve was released from his service to join MJ and Pietro on the couch. Well, Pietro was on the couch; MJ had wedged herself in the corner, pretending not to be rocking back and forth.

 “She’s going to be a terrifying mother,” Steve said, plopping down next to Pietro. “If her mama bear instincts were strong enough to nearly kill you back before she was even in her third trimester, I don’t wanna know what’ll happen when the baby actually comes out.”

 Pietro nodded, but otherwise didn’t respond. Steve waited, then finally asked “Is there something else on your mind?”

 Pietro shook his head, but spoke anyways “I just… I can’t stop trying to figure out who the dad is. The fact that… Gamora never agreed to this baby. When I tried to force Gamora to miscarry I was doing it for me, but also… I knew she didn’t want that baby.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. She deserves better.”

 It was harsh, but it was also _Pietro._ Steve patted his back, and then joined him and MJ in their silent reflection.

  


_(Had Bucky ever wanted children? Was that ever something that could have happened? He could have made a deal with a surrogate, or even just adopted. Did Steve want kids with Bucky? What would that even be like?)_

  


\------------------------

  


 Eventually, Steve fell asleep.

 He awoke to the sound of a baby crying.

  


\------------------------

  


 Shuri left the room ten minutes later, and was immediately faced with three former-slaves ready to break down the door to Gamora's room if necessary.

 "She doesn't want to see you," she said, standing in just the right way to guard the entrance. "Any of you."

 Steve instantly felt sick. "Is Natasha still in there?"

 "Yes, but she's almost done. She'll be leaving in a minute, and I expect all of you to be away from this door when she does."

 "What happened?" Pietro demanded. "Is the baby disfigured?"

 " _No,"_ Shuri growled. "He's _beautiful._ Gamora is just scared because she thought she knew what to expect, but she didn't. And now she's scared, because she can only hide for so long."

 

\-----------------------

  


 Natasha came out a few minutes later, and true to their word, they were away from the bedroom door. As tempting as it was to try and sneak a peak in, they all knew how it felt to have their privacy violated. If Gamora wanted to isolate herself-- herself and her baby, her baby boy, _oh my God--_ then they would respect that. As long as they were safe.

 Steve had a million questions for Natasha, but as soon as she left the room she located Steve and plopped down on top of him, falling asleep with her head in his lap. He exhaled, and petted her shoulder gently.

 

\------------------------

  


 It was the early hours of the morning and they were all sleeping in clumps when the door finally opened. Steve had been only dozing, so he woke up immediately, as did Shuri at his side. They silently roused the others, while Gamora waited, moving to sit in the rocking chair with something precious wrapped up in cloth.

 Finally, they were all awake, staring at her with a mixture of fascination and morbid curiosity. She pushed the chair into motion with the tips of her feet, keeping them firmly planted on the ground to control the movement. Her entire body curled around the baby wrapped in the bundle of cloth, like it was the only thing that really mattered in the room.

 Gamora looked absolutely _wrecked,_ exhausted and drained, aching and pained and miserable _,_ but somehow she managed to sit and wait, rocking her baby while everyone took in the scene.

 Finally, Gamora lifted the baby up, resting him against her shoulder and letting some of the cloth fall away. She ran her ivy nails over his tufts of black hair, looking up just to dare anyone to say something about it.

 The baby was adorable, sweet and cuddly and probably the smallest thing Steve had ever seen. He was also not green, like his mother. He was black, his skin a smooth, golden brown. He was beautiful, though as Steve stared longer, he realized that there was quite a stark color contrast between the baby and his mother. Then, he realized what that meant.

 "Well," Pietro said, dry as dirt. "I guess we know who the father is."

 Gamora's entire body was still curled around the baby like she was hanging onto him, not the other way around. Her face remained tilted toward him even as her eyes drew up, meeting Pietro's. Steve just had time to wonder if someone else should take the baby just in case Gamora decides to tear Pietro's throat out with her teeth, when he realized Gamora's lower lip was quivering.

 "Oh, 'Mora," Natasha said, getting up and opening her arms. Steve stood too, as did Shuri, and MJ, and Pietro, and they all crowded around Gamora, tucked around her in a group hug while she tucked around the baby and sobbed silently. The hug was a good idea, not only because it meant they could show their support, but also because, in order for it to work, they had to tuck their necks to the side and hold each other so close they couldn't really watch Gamora cry. Gamora, who held back tears even when she announced, yes, she was pregnant, no, it wasn't her idea, was now full on sobbing in front of _all of them._ Holding her and turning their faces was an act of mercy.

 Steve squeezed tightly. His chest was against the corner of the chair, one hand on Gamora's shoulder, one hand around MJ's bony back, and closed his eyes, trying to fight off his own tears. He tried to imagine how it must have gone down; Valkyrie deciding she wanted to get Gamora pregnant, weaning her off the drugs to prepare, asking her male friends who'd be willing. Sam volunteered, because of course he did. Gamora protesting, or maybe not protesting, just watching as her fate was decided without her input.

 How long had Gamora known? How many nights had she sat on her bedroom floor, a hand on her stomach, feeling and listening and waiting, because _no, it couldn't be real._ Not like this. Not arranged like this, planned like this, decided like this. Not with the love of her life in a box somewhere, neck swollen and bruised.

 How long did she keep it a secret before she had no other choice? Because, like the contraception, this pregnancy wasn't something she could stop? She was a ticking time bomb, and it had only been a matter of months until the baby was born into the same hell she was living in.

 Until suddenly, the life her son was destined was no longer his only option.

 

 Really, it was no wonder Gamora fought Pietro tooth and nail when he tried to make her miscarry. By then, she knew that there was a _chance_ they could escape _._ There was a possibility that she would bring her child into a world where he could have a _chance._ So she beat Pietro bloody, because there was no way he would take that from her.

 Now, she cried into Pietro's shirt while he rubbed her back and muttered platitudes. They weren't good platitudes, more like "Oh, come on, don't cry, I thought that you'd melt if you got wet, Elphaba," but it seemed to work. Finally, Gamora sniffled, and shoved him away weakly.

 "Alright, I'm done." She said, steeling her voice.  "Back it up, blondie, my vagina may have stitches in it but I can still beat your ass."

 She let Natasha hold the baby while she collected herself, fixing her clothes and running her fingers through her hair, when the front door opened. "Hey guys, I'm back, it didn't take as long as--"

 Peter froze, as did everyone else. He looked as pale as a sheet. "Don't tell me I missed it."

 Steve gave him a sad smile. "Gamora's vagina has stitches in it now."

 Peter rushed into the living room, looking over all of them, Natasha with the baby, and then Gamora. He flung himself at her, hugging her far tighter than any of the others had dared to. "You did it! I can't believe you did it, I'm so proud of you!"

 "I'm not going to cry!" Gamora said, trying to harden her voice. "So don't even get me started, Parker!"

 Peter laughed deliriously. "It's okay! I can cry enough for the both of us. What's their name?"

 Gamora puffed up a little, pushing her shoulders back. "He's a boy. And his name is Orion Quill."

 Pietro scoffed. "'Orion'. Where'd you get that? A crossword puzzle?"

 Gamora shrugged, faux-casual. "He's named after the constellation, dipshit. It was Nebula's favorite."

 "It's beautiful," Peter said sincerely, all but hopping up and down. "Can I hold him?"

 Natasha handed baby Orion over, and Peter pulled him right to his chest, holding onto him sort of like Gamora held him. "You beautiful little thing," he whispered. "You beautiful thing. Just like your mom."

 Orion must have woken up in the trade-off, because now his big brown eyes were open, staring at Steve from over Peter's shoulder. Steve gave him a little wave, which Orion watched with undying fascination, his eyes not quite tracking.  

 Then Orion turned his head, so he was looking at Peter's neck. Slowly, one of his chubby baby hands reached out, grabbing onto Peter's collar that had just barely slipped out from beneath his shirt. "Ah-ah," Peter said, gently disentangling his fingers. "I know baby, I know. You just want to explore the whole world."

 Gamora cleared her throat. "Peter… there's something you should know. His dad--"

 Peter shushed her, using the same soothing baby voice he'd used on Orion. "I know. I know. He looks just like you, though. _Such_ a beautiful baby. And he's going to grow up big and strong and go to elementary school, and he's going to be so happy, and we're going to make it work, okay? We'll find a way."

 Gamora reached out and took Peter's outstretched hand, squeezing it gently. Peter flashed her a grin, like he single-handedly would make everything work out. Steve didn’t doubt it.

 “Oh, baby baby, look at you! Aren’t you just the sweetest little guy in the whole world? I know things probably seem pretty scary and new right now. Yeah, that’s right, I love you too.”

  


\-----------------------

  


 Everyone else had gone to bed, but Peter had asked Steve and Natasha to stay, so they did. They sat on the couch and allowed him to collect himself as he coughed awkwardly, clearly holding something back. How he managed to keep up his boyfriend act for so long was beyond Steve; Peter was a horrible liar.

 "So," he started, ringing his hands, "I went on a day trip. I picked someone up, actually."

 Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

 "Yeah. He's, um, waiting outside. Don't hate me."

 The front door opened again, and out from the shadows emerged a medium-height blond man, a duffle bag and a bow and arrows slung over his hoodie. "Hey Nat. Steve."

 It had been over a year, but Clint Barton's shit-eating grin hadn't changed an _inch._

  


\-----------------------

  


 Over the next few days, they found a new routine in the insanity of everything. Clint slept in Natasha's bed with her, and they spent most of their days together. Steve, for his part, tried to keep his distance from Clint. He'd changed too much from the person Clint had known that he felt like it would hurt too much to let him in.

 That didn't stop Clint from trying, though. "Hey Steve," he said one morning, leaning on the table next to him. He was smiling, but his voice was more cautious than normal, like he was watching his words for once. "I like the tats."

 Steve slurped up more of his oatmeal. He did not look at Clint, and he did not flinch when Clint got too close. He _didn't._ "They weren't my choice," he murmured.

 Clint made a quick apology, then left, awkward as ever. Steve ignored him, too focused on his own response. _They weren't my choice._ That wasn't even true; Bucky had let Steve decide what he wanted, hell, he'd even let him draw the designs himself. _They weren't my choice._ It was like Steve was disregarding every good thing Bucky'd ever done for him.

 Apparently, his body language and short reply hadn't been enough to give Clint the hint. Later that afternoon, he was back, a mug of tea in one hand and two in the other. "My lady," he said psuedo-formally as he bowed, giving Natasha the mug. "My gentleman," he said, twirling around to set the other mug before Steve.

 Steve looked at it without touching, his nose wrinkling slightly. "I don't drink tea anymore."

  _Because Bucky drinks tea. Because when I make tea, I make enough for two. Because the last time I made tea, I mixed in four sleeping pills. Was it too much? Had Bucky even woken up? Was he--_

 "Ah," Clint said, interrupting Steve's train of thought. "Then I guess you want coffee instead. Here, have mine."

 Clint swapped out the cups, and Steve got up and left.

  


\-----------------------

  


 Steve stayed in his room the rest of the day. He considered coming out for dinnertime, but he felt too sick to eat and besides, it wasn't like Bucky would know.

 No one came in for him; no one scolded him for missing a meal. No one cared at all. Bucky may have had his problems, but at least he cared.

  


\---------------------

 Clint knocked on his door half an hour later. "Hey, I brought you a plate. It's still warm if you want some. Um, I just wanted to say sorry if I'd upset you--"

 Steve covered his ears with his pillow. He knew that his lack of response was probably upsetting, and he waited for Clint to burst in and make him listen. Of course, Clint didn't, because that wasn't Clint. That was Bucky.

  _(It was always Bucky)._

 He couldn't avoid Clint forever, though. One day, Clint managed to corner him. Clint and Natasha were on the couch, in between rounds of cards, and Steve was on the armchair, pretending to read a book. Clint asked "so, what was it like? Everyone makes it seem like it was some super creepy sex cult. Did you do anything kinky?"

 Steve rolled his eyes. How funny. They'd always talked about sex before, when there was something to talk about. It was humorous, some times. Intriguing, others. Steve remembered vaguely that he used to have a crush on Clint, used to fantasize about the way his hands would feel. Now, there's nothing. The Clint that would have ever touched Steve had died somewhere around the time that Steve stopped fighting so hard. They were like two puzzle pieces that had morphed, so they no longer matched.

 "Depends on your definition, I guess," Natasha said in an amused tone, in response to Clint's question. "What do you mean by kinky?"

 Clint immediately bit, seeing this was a topic that could get Natasha to crack a smile. "You know, something really sexy and _weird_ . An intense fetish. Like… voyeurism. You know, the _extreme_ stuff."

 In the kitchen, Peter dropped a glass and it shattered. Steve facepalmed.

 Clint rushed to the kitchen to help him clean up, because he was a good guy like that. Natasha and Steve stayed in the living room, because they were horrible, corrupted people.

 Natasha raised an eyebrow. Steve scowled back at her. "He's endearing," Natasha insisted. "At least give him points for effort."

 "Talking about sex in front victims of human trafficking is not--"

 " _I'm_ not a victim," Natasha corrected sharply. "Now be quiet, I'm trying to listen."

 Steve rolled his eyes, because Natasha was the one to start the conversation in the first place, but went quiet too.

 "So, was it kinky?" Clint asked Peter, the kitchen making his voice sound a little echoey. "I just gotta know."

 Peter laughed. It wasn't his real laugh, but was more of his performance laugh. "Well, clearly not as intense as the shit you're into. I mean, voyeurism? Never in my life have I _ever_ watched someone have sex."

  _That little--_

 "Really? Have they watched you?"

 "Nope! Um, my old master was very private. Everything was _very_ vanilla. You know; handjobs, missionary positions, that sort of thing. And that’s only if he managed to actually get it up in the first place."

 Steve met Natasha’s eyes, giving her a look like _kill me now._ Natasha just smiled back, mouthing the words _'wait, I thought Peter was a virgin?'_

 In the kitchen, Clint cleared his throat. "Nat tells me he had a bunch of slaves, though. Did you ever… you know… pair up? Like a threesome?"

 Peter coughed. "Um, nope. Can't say I've ever done that."

 "I'm pretty sure Peter hosted a Christmas orgy," Natasha whispered. "Like, ten people."

 That got Steve's attention. "What? Why wasn't I invited?"

 "Because Peter thought Bucky would play pin-the-bullet-on-the-whore if he deflowered you."

 " _Deflowered,_ " Steve scoffed. "I hate you."

 "What about you Nat?" Clint yelled from the kitchen, causing Steve to flinch. "Did you do anything exciting?"

 "I groped Steve at a party!" She yelled back.

 Instantly, Clint was in the doorway, looking back and forth between them. " _What?"_

 His gaze landed on Steve, but Steve wasn't about to tell him anything. Instead, Natasha filled him in. "We had to make out to maintain our covers. It was like a spy movie, you would've loved it."

 "And you groped him?!"

 Steve rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the smile that teased up. "She literally stuck her hand down my panties. It was terrifying."

 The room grew quiet, and Steve realized too late what he'd said. Clint's eyebrows raised. "Panties?"

 "I'm going to bed," Steve declared, getting up and shoving his way through before anyone could stop him.

 "Wait!" Clint called from behind him. "I don't care, that's totally cool! I think panties--"

 Steve slammed the door, so he didn't hear the last part. He didn't _care._ Why was it that, out of everyone in the house, including everyone who knew the gory details of Steve's life as a slave, Clint was the one who made it impossible to forget.

 

\-----------------------

  


 That evening, Steve stood in front of the floor length mirror in just a pair of panties. He wouldn't admit where he got them, though he would note that it was pretty impressive he and Natasha were the same size.

 He moved this way and that, trying to make it feel right. He felt naked, his back cold. It was as if his body had grown accustomed to another precense, draped over him in the bathroom mirror. _Look at you. So fucking pretty, all for me._

Bucky did that often, with many of the outfits he'd put Steve in, and sometimes with the outfits he _hadn't_ put Steve in; the first time Steve chose out his own harness, once or twice when he made himself wear lingerie, another time when he was naked. A time after that where his face was bruised from his fight with Natasha. A time after that where his ass was bruised from punishment. Of course, Steve couldn't see _that_ in the mirror, what with the way his ass was pressed up against Bucky's crotch, hot and hard…

 The door oopened and Steve spun around, thinking it was Clint. Was he angry? What was he going to do, what words and what actions would he use to put Steve in his place?

 It turned out though, that it wasn't Clint at all. Instead Pietro sauntered into the room, swaying just enough to show that he was _not_ sober. "Hey, firecracker. Pretty panties."

 "Don't touch me," Steve responded immediately. Bucky never got drunk, but he was most dangerous when he was under the influence of something, whether it be sickness or his own mental health.

 Pietro put his hands up in surrender, fumbling towards the bed. "Clint wanted me to check on you. Said you seemed upset."

 "I am upset," Steve agreed. "Upset that he won't leave me alone. Tell him _that."_

Pietro flopped onto the comforter, shrugging obnoxiously. "Tell him yourself. I actually came in here for some peace and quiet, not to chew you out."

 Steve huffed, though some of the tension did leave his body. "Whatever."

 "The panties are pretty, though. I love that for you."

 If it was Bucky lounging on the bed and making that comment, Steve very well might have taken his panties off and thrown them at him before climbing up and kissing him. Then again, depending on the day, he also may have tried to hide, tucking inside of himself like, if he just made himself small enough, maybe the fabric would cover more.

 It didn't matter. Bucky was gone, and Steve was here. So, instead of doing either of those options, he simply pulled on his shirt from before and a folded pair of sweatpants. The tag of the sweats ended up catching on the panties momentarily, tugging on them, and for a moment, Steve was back in their house, standing on the smooth wooden floor he kept fresh and shiny, with Bucky's finger hooked in the band of his panties. _"Hey, come on now. That wasn't nice. Make it up to him?"_ Behind Bucky, Sam grinned.

 Steve turned and went for the door. "I'm going for a walk," he announced. Pietro didn't try to stop him. He didn't even try to slow him. No one did, and maybe that was a sign that they cared about his autonomy, or maybe it was a sign that they didn't care _at all._ Steve wasn't sure he knew the difference anymore.

 He walked and walked until he found a tree to sit under, staring up at the stars. Were they the same stars as from that night on Heidrun, with Steve all dressed up and their bodies laid out on the picnic blanket? Or were they different? Steve didn't even know, and how would he? He hardly saw the stars when Bucky kept him locked away all day.

  


\--------------------------

  


 Baby Ori liked to cry at all hours of the night, and Gamora and Peter took shifts rocking him back to peace. Steve would have volunteered to help, but at the moment, Gamora only trusted herself and Peter. Steve wanted to feel slighted, but then again if _he'd_ been the one to pop out a baby, he'd probably have given it to Peter too.

 Steve helped out where he could, doing little things like making Gamora breakfast and prepping snacks for her throughout the day. The downside was that it meant he had to be around the others, specifically Clint, but the upside was that it at least gave him something to do with himself. One would think that after so long having _nothing,_ he'd have learned to more efficiently waste time. He hadn't. His days were all too long.

 There were little pockets of interest throughout his days, though. Oftentimes, Steve woke up early in the morning to make Gamora's meals, so he started seeing Shuri more frequently. She worked on a project involving lots of intricate work and tiny pieces whenever she had free time. It was for her job, technically, but the way she poured over it made it seem more like a passion project than anything she did for work. Steve watched for a few days, trying to figure out what it was, before eventually giving in and asking.

 "You know those huge arc reactors?" Shuri said, not taking her eyes off the teeny metal plate she was placing. "I'm working on a miniaturized one with vibranium components that should be able to expel beams of energy. Right now it's basically a fancy laser, but the goal is to be able to use it to make more efficient green energy."

 Steve blinked. That was… a lot more complex than he'd been expecting. Did Okoye seriously make Shuri clean tattoo guns on Heidrun? No wonder Shuri was able to break them out; she must have been bored out of her mind. "And you've been working on this for how long?"

 She shrugged. "The time we've been here, plus some planning on Heidrun. I also stole some vibranium from Okoye, which is one of the reasons I got this job so fast."

 "And the other reason?"

 Shuri flipped her invisible hair-- her current hair was piled up in a braided bun on her head. "I'm a genius."

 Steve definitely was not about to argue with that.

 Shuri left for work decently early, and stayed gone all day. To fill up the time between talking to her and cooking for Gamora, Steve took to washing the floors, and picking the weeds from around the house. No one stopped him, but that may have been because no one noticed.

 He continued dodging Clint to the best of his ability, which, strangely, ended with him spending a lot more time than expected in Gamora's room. He talked to her and Peter throughout the day, as well as just watching them interact. Peter was convinced that baby Ori was a genius. "He's already tracking us, and his umbilical cord fell off so early! Don't tell me you don't think it's a sign."

 Gamora rolled her eyes. "That's not a sign, that's _biology."_

 "Still! Hey, Ori? Hey Ori? What's two plus two? Can you explain to me how to find the square root of a derivative?"

 Ori burped and Peter took it as a correct answer, praising Ori for being "the smartest baby to ever live". Gamora just shook her head and tried not to smile.

 The entire scene was cute and incredibly domestic. Especially if one pretended Peter and Gamora's friendship had always been like that. Especially if one ignored the way Peter's eyes sometimes drooped. Especially if one ignored the fact that Peter really, really wasn't Ori's dad, so it was strange that he was taking up the role so quickly, without a moment of hesitation.

 Especially if one ignored the fact that, while Peter tried so hard to be perfect, he was still just a kid. Everyone else was moving forwards, doing _something_ with their freedom. Everyone except Peter.

\--------------------------

  


Steve leaned against the wall, watching silently. He wasn’t exactly trying to hide, but he wasn’t making a point to be seen either.

 In the doorway to Gamora’s room, Peter carefully handed off Orion to Gamora, taking extra precaution with his head. Gamora laid the baby against her shoulder, bouncing him lightly and accepting Peter’s forehead kiss before retreating into her room. Peter watched for a moment before turning.

 He startled when he saw Steve, but quickly relaxed again when he saw it was _just_ Steve. “Hey.”

 “Hey,” Steve greeted, as if he hadn’t spent the past five minutes analyzing him. “What’s the deal with you and Gamora? I feel like you’ve told me, but you haven’t actually told me, you know?”

 Peter’s shoulders raised a little, going on the defensive. “I don’t know what you mean.”

 “You’re not Orion’s dad. Why are you pretending to be?”

 “Gamora needs support.”

 “Gamora’s got all of us,” Steve countered. “We can all take turns helping out. It doesn’t have to just fall to you.”

 “I don’t know what you mean.”

 “Are you in love with her?”

 Peter made a face. “No. She’s my friend; we’ve been friends since Sam bought me. Quill was my best friend, so he introduced us. And now Quill isn’t here—”

 “But you are,” Steve interrupted. “So what, you’re her fill-in boyfriend?”

 “ _No._ I’m just trying to—”

 “Peter, who did you care about before all this?”

 He watched Peter duck into the kitchen, skillfully flattening his expression as he went to pour a glass of water. “I had friends. And my Aunt May. Things were hard, sometimes. She took my Uncle Ben’s death hard, I needed to step in—”

 “Peter, have you ever _not_ been someone’s companion?”

 Peter went instantly quiet, the only sound the water trickling into his glass.

 Steve continued, pushing a little harder. “Because you were Sam’s companion. You practically sold your soul to be with him, doing your whole boyfriend experience thing. You were trying to make yourself his one and only, and, by the way, it worked. He was weepy as hell when you left, and it sure as hell wasn't just because you were his slave. And then, before, it sounds like you were May’s companion. Let me guess, you made sacrifices, right? Sacrifices your pre-teen ass probably didn’t need to be making. And now, the second you get away from Sam, you find yourself Gamora’s companion. You’ll help with whatever she needs, you’ll stay up, take care of the baby like it’s your own, fucking… kiss her on the forehead, like she’s your baby mama? You know you don’t have to be like this, right?”

 Peter set his water glass down, leaning hard against the counter.

 Steve tried to soften his voice, but knew he missed the mark. “Peter. You don’t have to give someone the skin off your back just to worth something.”

 Silence.

 Steve chewed on his lower lip, waiting for Peter to say something. He didn’t like this quiet, but he’d said his piece; now it was Peter’s turn.

 Finally, Peter chuckled, weakly. It sounded painful. “You’ve been spending too much time around Pietro.”

 Steve grinned a little. “Maybe. He gives good blowjobs.”

 Peter cocked an eyebrow at him. “So do I. You want to compare, or—”

 “Jesus Christ, don’t tell me you’re trying to make this about sex. Peter, I’m not saying you have to stop caring about other people, just that it might not be healthy to do this over and over again. Don’t you want to… I don’t know, be more?”

 Peter looked up intensely, eyes dark and hurt. “What, like you? Don’t pretend your adjusting just fucking fine, I’ve seen the way you’ve been avoiding Clint. Do you know how fucking worried he was about you? He missed you like Hell, and you’ll hardly make _eye contact_ with him!”

 “Oh, you want me to reconnect with the people from my old life? What about you, I don’t see you calling up your aunt! I’m sure she’d _love_ to hear from you.”

 “You _dick,”_ Peter hissed. “You and I both know that’s not true. I’ve been taking cock up the ass for _years._ She doesn’t want to see me, not like this.”

 “And how do you know that?” Steve pleaded. “Even broken is better than dead.”

 “I’m not bro—”

 “Well I am,” Steve interrupted. “I’m fucking _shattered,_ Peter. Bucky and I started having sex because I was _horny_ . The first time we fucked was because I _wanted it._ Do you know how shitty that feels? You’ve got your whole sob story about how you did what you had to to survive, and I’m just over here, like… like… my captivity was _nothing._ Bucky talked to me. He listened. He didn’t humiliate me, or exploit me, or, or… or any of it. When I escaped, it was because he _let_ me. I drugged him, and I was only able to do it because he trusted me enough to drink whatever I gave him.” He hissed. “You know what would happen if he found me again and took me back? _Nothing._ I _wish_ I had someone like Sam, or even Loki as a master. Getting beaten would be so much better than whatever the Hell this is.”

  _That_ seemed to break Peter. “Steve… you can’t think like that. It’s easy to idealize that place, especially if you only remember the times that were okay.”

 Steve shifted, not allowing himself to look at Peter. “You don’t get it; I already know that. I’ve been trying _so hard_ to avoid thinking about Bucky altogether, because I’m so scared that if I do, I’ll go back to him, even when I gave up _everything_ just to get away.”

  
  
  


\--------------------------

 

 When Orion was one week old, Gamora was practically falling asleep nursing.

 Steve sat next to her on the couch, arm around her shoulders, letting her lean into him as Orion ate his pre-bedtime meal. He was nestled in a little baby sling, which gave Gamora some modesty, though she didn't need it. In the past week, Gamora had been openly breastfeeding throughout the entire house. The only one who gave her a hard time about it was Pietro, and that was only because he and Gamora had a _special_ relationship that centered around profound amounts of verbal abuse. Pietro once walked into the kitchen while Gamora was breastfeeding and, without diverting his path to the refrigerator, announced "This must be an incredible experience for you. I know for a fact that this is the first time your tits have ever been bigger than a size A."

 Gamora sighed dramatically. "Yeah, but it's still sad. I just wish my boobs were as big as yours." She looked up, pretending to be surprised. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry, that's not a boob, that's your big fat head. Really, I'm sorry, but I don't know how you expected me to make the distinction."

 Pietro had chuckled, grabbed an apple from the kitchen table, and saluted Gamora while he took a big bite out of it and walked away.

 Pietro pretended to be so far beyond Gamora. It would almost have been convincing, if Pietro wasn't the one to buy Gamora the sling two days later.

 Which somehow, lead them to the present, with Steve sitting on the couch with his arm around Gamora as she nursed, and baby Orion wrapped up in his sling.

 "I get nightmares, you know." Gamora said out of the blue, looking down at Ori's relaxed little face. "I wake up thinking that something happened, that I wasn't paying attention and he got hurt, or… or someone found us…"

 "No one's going to find us," Steve swore, feeling the nausea come back. He may have had trouble discerning between the good memories of his captivity and the bad, but he knew, either way, he'd escaped for a reason. He didn't regret that for a moment. "And even if they did, they would only take Orion over our cold, dead bodies."

 Gamora sunk a little lower, leaning against his shoulder more. "Yeah," she said quietly. "That's what I'm afraid of."

 They were both silent for a few moments, letting it sink in.

 "I just," Gamora started, "he just… there's just so many things that could go wrong. So many. What if he gets taken later? They would only take him as a baby if they knew his relation to me, so he'd be safest without me. But he's eventually going to grow up to be a teen. What if he's taken then, like Peter? You know I love Peter, but I would never, ever want what happened to him to happen to Orion. Or what if he's older when he's taken? Steve, I can't protect him forever! What if--"

 "You're freaking yourself out," Steve interrupted, harsher than he meant. _And you're freaking me out._ "Stop it. It's going to be okay, alright? We'll all be okay. No one is going to take Orion. And you're not abandoning him, alright? You love him too much to do that."

 Gamora's eyes dropped. "But what if… what if that's where he's safest?"

 "I promise you, it's not. We've all already spent too much time away from our loved ones. I don't know about you, but the idea of separating any more families? It makes me sick."

 Finally, Steve seemed to have said something right. Gamora relaxed, dropping her head to fully rest on Steve's shoulder. Her breathing relaxed, and for a while, the only sound in the room was the sounds Ori made. Ori, small and alive. Ori, living in a world filled with new possibilities. They would keep him safe. History would not repeat itself.

 

\---------------------------

  


 Eventually, baby Orion finished nursing, and both him and his mom fell asleep. Steve stayed where he was, appreciating the warmth and comfort that came from another human's touch, when he'd been depriving himself of it for so long. He'd had other concerns when with Bucky, but he'd never become touch starved. He never had to _ask_ for touch.

 Steve himself was just starting to doze when he heard the door quietly click open. He kept his eyes closed, but listened for the sound of footsteps. Peter, Natasha, and Clint were all out, so it could be any one of them. He'd be able to tell by how loud they were.

 He waited, and then waited some more. Then there was the tiniest, quietest creak, and Steve opened his eyes. Whoever was walking was nearly silent, except for the creak in the floor, because they weren't used to this floor and didn't know it's weak spots and that meant--

 Bucky stepped into view, lingering by the kitchen table. He was bigger than Steve could've ever remembered, his body firm and solid in a way that made it so he didn't even consider leaning against the kitchen table for support.

 He was dressed solely in his black leather, with the metal arm exposed and gleaming. Over his face was the mask and goggles, and slung over his back was his rifle. It was a picture Steve had seen many times before; it was a picture Steve had prayed to never see again.

 And he was staring right at him.

 To Steve's side, Ori sneezed in his sleep. Gamora moved subtly, bringing her hand up to rub her baby's back. She was still asleep, but if she woke up…

 "What do you want?" Steve whispered, _knowing_ that Bucky could hear him. "Get out of here."

 Bucky just cocked his head to the side. The gesture was enough to make Steve heart speed up. That gesture, that _fucking gesture._ In public, Bucky was a man of few words, and when he wore his mask, even fewer expressions, so Steve _knew_ this look, he _knew_ what it meant. And it meant something dangerous. It was the Winter Soldier version of the response _I'm sorry, do you want to rephrase that?_

" _Bucky,_ " Steve begged. _"Please._ Please, you can't… the babies sleeping, please, please don't wake the baby. If Gamora wakes up she'll scream, and, and you can't--"

 Bucky help up his metal hand, and Steve fell into silence so quickly it was like a pipe being closed off in his throat. Bucky looked from Steve to Gamora, then back to Steve, and took a step forward.

 "I'll kill you," Steve whispered. He knew what he probably looked like, his eyes glassy in the moonlight, his hair cut badly and his body shaking. Could Bucky see the way he shivered? Could Gamora feel it? Steve felt like he was trembling so badly it should have felt like a jackhammer to the skull, and yet Gamora stayed asleep. For now.

 "I'll kill you," Steve promised again, when he found Bucky just staring at him. God, Steve _hated_ that mask. "I'll kill you. I'll kill you. Don't-- don't-- don't wake up the baby. Please. Bucky, please."

 Bucky stepped forward again, and Steve'a breath hitched, but otherwise he stayed silent. Bucky took another step, and then another. MJ and Pietro were in their rooms; they could leave at any time. Clint, Natasha and Peter were out; they could come back at any time. And of course, Gamora was asleep, able to wake up at _any time._ And for any of those scenarios to happen, for any of them to wake up or otherwise appear, meant the end of everything.

 Bucky was the demon lurking in the shadows; he was the monster under Steve's bed. And if anyone, _anyone_ saw him, that made him _real._

Bucky stopped in front of the couch, so close one of his legs was slotted in between Steve's. He looked down at baby Ori, briefly, and tentatively reached out with his metal hand, stroking his cheek. Ori stirred, but Bucky held the touch, a moment too long. Steve couldn't say a word as they waited, holding their breath to see if either of the sleeping figured would awake.

 They didn't.

 Steve just had time to exhale before that metal hand was on him, tight on Steve's jaw, holding him in place. Steve felt his heart jump at the contact, not ready. In the back of Steve's mind, he'd been hoping this all was a dream. The touch confirmed that it wasn't.

 Bucky stroked Steve's cheek, and despite all the time spent learning to read him, Steve was somehow unable to interpret his non-expression. Was he angry? Sad? Joyous?

 His thumb trailed down to Steve's mouth, just barely pushing against his lower lip. Steve risked just one more word: _"Please."_

Bucky held his gaze for a few long moments. Then, finally, he released his grip on Steve's mouth, digging his hands in Steve's hair and forcing his head down. It was the maximum amount of movement possible without jolting Gamora, and right now, that was Steve's only priority. That could be his _only_ priority now, because as long as Gamora stayed asleep, Gamora stayed alive.

 

 So Steve allowed Bucky to manhandle him, pushing his head down and pressing something against it. It almost felt like… a piece of paper? Bucky was using Steve's skull like a clipboard, just a surface to write on.

 When Bucky took the paper back, Steve returned his head to it's previous position, staring at Bucky and begging for mercy with it eyes. Bucky folded the piece of paper in half, and smoothly, stuck it in Steve's mouth, making him bite down on it like a dog with a newspaper. Bucky pressed his mask to Steve'a forehead, like a kiss.

 And then… he was gone. Bucky turned and left, like he was never there in the first place. He walked out the front door and boom, gone. At Steve's side, Gamora sighed in her sleep, completely oblivious to all the ways she could have just died.

 Steve was stupid, he was so, so stupid. Bucky had tracked people for years, and Steve had had the audacity to think he could outsmart him. Stupid, _stupid._

With trembling hands, Steve took the folded paper from between his teeth, opening it. The message was simple and sweet.

  _Meet me at the address below tomorrow evening. The baby's cute-- maybe if you actually obey for once, I won't have to tell Sam where to find it._

_With love,_

_Bucky._

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter:  
> -Bucky's POV  
> -Gamora's labour/birth  
> -Orion Quill's introduction to the world  
> -Pietro and Gamora's interactions (aka constant verbal abuse)  
> -CLINT!!!!  
> -Peter and Gamora's interactions (aka impromptu fatherhood)  
> -Steve and Peter's fight  
> -Bucky's return
> 
> I have been working on this for the past three hours straight and honestly... I can't. Guys. GUYS. Ugh. 
> 
> I cant wait to here what you have to think ;) Only one chapter left!!!!


	43. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience in this final chapter! It was a bear to write, as you might have been able to guess from how long it took. But it’s here now, and I am really proud of how it turned it. A million thanks to JadenRay64 for beta-reading!
> 
> Please read the endnotes, and enjoy!

The next morning, Steve stayed in his room, not even bothering to get out of bed. He didn't realize how late it was until there was a knock on his door. "Can I come in?" 

 Steve groaned and pulled Pietro's pillow over his face, miserable. He wasn't sick, but he definitely didn't feel great. If it was an option, he would request that the ground absorb him, taking him off the face of the Earth for good.

 He hadn't responded, but the door still opened, meaning it was Clint. All of the others were careful to respect privacy, letting Steve grieve how he needed. But Clint and Natasha had always been nosy, and they'd learned long before that if Steve didn't answer, they should just break into his apartment. He may be lying on the bathroom floor in insurmountable pain from his stomach ulcers. 

 (Stomach ulcers that had been  _ fixed  _ on Heidrun.)

 "Hey," Clint said, coming over and sitting on the edge of Steve's bed. "Are you feeling okay? Gamora thought you were making breakfast today, Nat had to step in and do it for you." 

 Steve groaned again, because  _ fuck.  _ He had only seven hours left in this house, and he'd already fucked up. 

 "I brought you food," Clint added. "You should eat." 

 "You should eat too," Steve mumbled. "Eat my dick."

 Clint laughed, and Steve peaked out from his pillow to watch. He hadn't heard Clint's laugh since… since…

 "I'm sorry," Steve whispered. “For...you know.”

 Clint glanced at him, like he was checking to see if Steve was talking about what he thought Steve was talking about. Then he looked away, shaking his head. “I’m the one who should apologize. I should’ve found a way to stop them, I should’ve—”

 “You couldn’t have stopped them,” Steve interrupted. “I just wish… I wish Natasha hadn’t gotten involved. I wish I’d managed to draw them all away, but… I didn’t. I wish it was just me.”

 “I wish  _ neither of you  _ got hurt,” Clint said, harsher. “You’re both my best friends.” 

 Steve rested his head on his hand and tried very hard to think about how that wasn’t true, not anymore. Steve had done everything he could to push Clint away. Things had changed, and Clint would figure it out sooner or later. 

_ Tonight,  _ he thought miserably. If Bucky wanted him back— which Steve was sure was true— then Steve wouldn’t be able to escape him. He’s tried so long to escape, but there was nowhere to go from there. If Bucky found him this time, then he would continue to find him. Steve believed that if Bucky told him he’d keep the others’ location a secret, then he would follow through with it. It was a steep price, but Steve could find a way to pay. They’d all gone through so much, and with baby Ori in the picture, Steve would have to truly be evil to sacrifice them. It was one of him, or all of them, and that wasn’t something Steve could risk. 

 He pulled himself out of bed then, and Clint wrapped his arm around Steve’s shoulders, pulling him in a familiar, comforting way.  _ I know you. I’ve got your back.  _ Steve allowed himself to lean in, just a little. He had seven hours; he might as well enjoy them. 

 Everyone else had already eaten, but Pietro and Natasha lingered around as Steve scarfed down some pancakes. They didn’t talk. As Steve ate, he wondered if he should tell them their goodbyes in person. It would be worth it for his own ease of mind, but then they might figure out what he was about to do and try to stop him. So notes— he would write notes. He would write notes. 

 What was he  _ thinking _ ? He couldn’t just give up, not like this. Bucky wanted to see him again, but who was to say that meant he wanted to take him back? Maybe Bucky was just looking for some resolution of his own. Maybe he’d realized their relationship was flawed, and wanted to make amends. Maybe he would hold Steve and tell him he was sorry, tell him he was safe, he was  _ free  _ now.  _ If you love something, let it go. If it loves you back… _

__ There was a part of Steve that prayed that things didn’t turn out that way. There was an evil, bitter part him that wanted nothing more than Bucky to tie him up and haul him off, for Bucky to scream at him and hit him and bleed words of betrayal. If Bucky would only hit him, then Steve would know. Because the truth was, there was a part of Steve that wanted to love Bucky with everything he’d ever had. There was a part of Steve that, if given the choice, would go willingly.  _ Bucky. Buck, I missed you so much. I’m so glad you found me. I love you… _

__ “Hey man,” Peter said, slapping Steve on the back so suddenly he jerked. “I was planning on going on some errands today, you wanna come? I have a feeling you could use some time out of the house.”

 Steve bit his lip, willing himself not to say  _ no.  _ He had seven hours; less, now. He couldn’t just bask in his own misery. That could be saved for later. 

 “Sure,” Steve said, trying to sound more excited than he felt. He didn’t succeed. “Where are we going?”

 They first stopped by a laundromat because the house they were in didn’t have a washing machine. While those clothes were running, Peter dragged Steve next door to get a few more baby things, and then across the street. “We’re getting a dog,” Peter proclaimed. 

 Steve made a face. “Why the hell would we get a dog?”

 Peter shrugged. “Security? Emotional support? I don’t know, I just think we need a dog. It’ll be good for Ori!”

 Ori was still so young he drooled on his own face, but alright. If Peter wanted a dog, fuck it. 

 Steve’s opinion changed drastically, however, once they actually went inside the kennel. The barking from just the main room was enough to make Steve want to climb inside his skin and never come out, and that was before even  _ seeing _ one of the mutts. 

 A door opened, and a woman came out with a small brown and black dog. Immediately, it made eye contact with Steve and held it, baring its teeth in a snarl. “No Coco,” the woman chastised, “That’s rude.  _ No,  _ bad dog.”

_ Peter,  _ Steve muttered.  _ I don’t think we should be here.  _

__ It took him a few moments to realize that he hadn’t said it out loud. He opened his mouth, fully intending to try again, but then Peter was grabbing his hand, pulling him towards the door the dog had come from. “I’m so excited! I’ve always wanted a dog, but I’ve never lived in a place that really allowed them…”

 Steve’s blood was rushing in his ears. With every step forwards, the barking just got louder,  _ louder.  _ Steve could feel a heavy weight on his chest, paws against his face, claws ripping into skin.  _ No, no! Stop, help! Bucky, help, stop him, please, please— _

__ They entered the room and Steve was hit with a wall of barks so powerful he took a step back. But Peter’s hand was still on his, strong, pulling him forwards.  _ Look at them! Look at the babies, aww, they’re so cute! _

_  Peter, this isn’t safe. We need to go right now, we need to! _

__ Peter crouched in front of one of the cages, sticking his hand through. Immediately, a medium sized boxer bounded over to him, all powerful hind legs, black, soulless eyes. Peter wasn’t holding Steve’s hand anymore, so Steve could step back. If Peter would just notice how he kept stepping  _ back,  _ then maybe Steve wouldn’t have to  _ tell  _ him. Steve  _ couldn’t  _ tell him, he couldn’t  _ speak,  _ not over the roar of howling and yapping and snarling. Peter’s hand was through the bars of the kennel, oh  _ god.  _ The dog was going to grab on, bite down, pull him in. Steve could already hear Peter’s screams. 

_ Bucky, please! Please, get him off, get him off, get him— _

__ Steve turned, speeding back through the door he’d come from. An assistant’s hand was on his arm, but he shrugged her off, needing to get away. If she grabbed tighter he’d be forced to punch her, to fight. He’d always been a fighter,  _ always.  _ Until one day, he just… wasn’t. 

 He slammed the front doors open, barreling out. The noise was gone now— maybe? Or was it? He felt as though he could still hear the echoes of the dogs growling, thousands of hungry maws ready to fight each other for the best pieces. The sound wasn’t as bad outside though, and that little, sane part of Steve pointed out how stupid he was being. This was completely unnecessary. Completely uncalled for. Completely—

 Steve slid down the side of the brick wall and buried his head in his hands. 

——————————

_ Okay Fenris, that’s enough. Get off him. Down boy, I said down!  _

_  Get down boy. That’s right, on your knees. Have I ever told you how pretty you are like that? Good boy, good Stevie. What a pretty little thing. _

——————————

 “I’m guessing maybe dogs aren’t your thing,” Peter said dryly. His arm was around Steve’s shoulder, and all of the different shattered parts of Steve fought against each other to keep Steve steady. He was not allowed to lean away from the touch; just as so, he was not allowed to lean in. He could remain a happy medium. He  _ could.  _

__ “No,” Steve said, quietly chastising himself for his own weakness. This was ridiculous, truly and utterly ridiculous. Peter didn’t deserve this shit. “I’m… sorry. It’s just, Bucky’s fucking  _ dog—” _

__ Peter rubbed his back, a little harshly, but Steve was thankful for it because all of a sudden he couldn’t  _ breathe,  _ he couldn’t get  _ air,  _ what was happening, why was he suffocating, when did his lungs get so tight and his throat so small, when did his tongue dry out, his skin clam up? Why did he feel like he’d just been forced to take an ice bath? He didn’t understand, he just knew that something was wrong, something was so, so wrong, and—

 “First time saying his name again?” Peter guessed, his tone casual even as his grip stayed tight.  _ I’m here.  _ “First time really saying his name, I mean. I know what you’re feeling.”

 Peter couldn’t, no way. Peter could never understand the way Steve’s ribs were compressing inwards, and God, why couldn’t he just leave him alone?

__

__ “I’m sorry,” Steve muttered. “Just… ignore me. I’m fine.”

 Peter sat back, nodding slowly. “Alright. Well, our laundry should be done by now. Let’s go check on it?”

 Steve shook his head, hiding his face in his knees. “You wanted a dog.”

 “I also wanted a fucking T-bone steak. We don’t always get what we want. Come on, our laundry’s gonna mold.”

  
  


—————————

  
  


 Back at the cabin, Steve helped Peter hang the damp laundry on clotheslines outside. The sun was warm on his skin, and it highlighted Peter’s brown hair with streaks of gold. Steve tried not to stare at this beautiful, beautiful boy, but failed. They were almost done when Peter caught him, giving him the most gorgeous smile before planting a big kiss on Steve’s cheek. 

 Inside, Gamora and Shuri were at the dining room table, looking at Shuri’s project. It was the one she’d been working on for weeks, the ‘glorified laser’ made out of arc-reactor technology. “Is it done?” Peter asked excitedly, bounding over to the table to see.

 “This version is,” Shuri answered, only taking her eyes off the device for the briefest second. “I’ll be bringing it in the day after tomorrow to have it reviewed. We can start running experiments, and see if it will work as a new source for clean energy.”

 “It’s a laser,” Steve complained. “How would it work for clean energy?”

 “Lasers have a lot of power behind them; it’s not hard to harness that power. This one is strong enough to melt through pure titanium.”

 Steve raised an eyebrow. “Have you tested it?”

 “No, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know. I understand my own creations; if I didn’t you wouldn’t be here right now.”

 Steve shrugged, but he couldn’t argue with that logic. If Shuri thought her arc-reactor could blast through solid titanium, he believed her.

  
  


—————————

 Steve spent the rest of the afternoon with Natasha and Gamora, alternating between laying against Natasha like a dead animal, and holding Ori, rocking him into relaxation. Then, without any warning, it was 4:30, and Steve’s presence was expected at 5, or cute baby Ori would have a drastically different childhood. 

 It was just him and Natasha in the living room when it came time for Steve to leave, so he hugged her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

 Natasha grunted, but her posture softened at the words, revealing her true feelings. “Ew. Emotions.”

 “I do love you,” Steve muttered, willing himself to keep his calm. He couldn’t let Natasha know the truth, no matter what. “You’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember. And… we grew apart, didn’t we? But we still love each other?”

 Natasha sighed, nodding. “Yeah. Things haven’t been easy, but there isn’t much I wouldn’t do for you. That hasn’t changed.”

 It was Steve’s turn to nod, brushing his ear against the soft skin of her neck.  _ Not a lot I wouldn’t do for you, either.  _

 “Nat?” Steve asked, suddenly much quieter than he intended. “Do you ever… do you ever have a hard time speaking? Like the words just get caught in your throat, and…” 

 “Yeah,” she whispered. “Sometimes.”

_ I’m so sorry.  _

__ “Oh. Well. I just… I get that too. Especially lately.”

 “I’m sorry.”

 A shrug.  _ Nothing to be sorry about.  _ “It’s okay.”

 “Is there something you want to tell me?”

_ Let me say goodbye. _

__ “No.”

 “Are you… are you sure?”

_ I’m leaving. I’m sorry.  _

__ “Yeah. Just… a random thought, you know? But I told you I love you. That’s all I… all I really wanted to say.”  _ Lies. _

_  Tell her! _

__ Natasha swallowed. “Well. If that’s it.”

_ Please, please. Don’t do this. Don’t leave it like this, you’ll never forgive yourself. She doesn’t deserve that!  _

__ “Yeah. That’s pretty much it.”

 A pause, and then: “Do you know who’s making dinner tonight? I’m starving.”

 Steve shrugged, backing off. The places that were warm with contact just moments ago quickly grew cold. “Um, no, I don’t know. I’m just… I’m having a rough day, so I think I’m going to go to my room for a while. I’d appreciate it if no one bothered me.”

 “Yeah, sure.”

 Steve dragged himself over to his door, trying to draw it out. He’d almost worked up enough courage to go through when Natasha said “Steve?”

 “Yeah?”

 She waited until he turned around, and then smiled, her same snarky, mischievous smile that she’d had as long as Steve knew her. “I’m glad we got out. We’re on the upslope.”

 “The upslope,” Steve repeated.  _ I’m so sorry.  _ “Got it.” 

—————————

  
  


 If Steve had planned better, he’d have written one letter for each of them. But in the end, he didn’t have enough time, and had to make due with just one note _. I had to do this. As soon as you read this, pack your things and move to a house as far away from here as possible. Sorry.  _

__ There was so much more to say, but there was just no  _ time.  _ Steve could hardly think as it was— all he could hear was a chorus of Natasha’s words, her  _ last  _ words, playing in his mind over and over and over.

_ I’m glad we got out. We’re on the upslope.  _

_  I’m glad we got out. We’re on the upslope.  _

_  I’m glad we got out. We’re on the upslope. _

 Steve got dressed, brushed his teeth. And still, the words kept playing over and over and  _ over,  _ changing just a little every time until he could hardly remember the truth anymore. 

_ I’m glad you and I got out. We’re on the upslope.  _

_  I’m glad you and I finally made it out. We’re on the upslope.  _

_  I’m happy you and I finally made it out. We’re on the upslope.  _

_  We’re on the upslope. _

_  Things will only get better from here.  _

__ Steve opened his window, ready to climb out. Except… except they were on the upslope. Except he worked so hard to be here. Except he deserved better. 

_ Meet me at the address below tomorrow evening,  _ the letter had said.  _ The baby's cute,  _ the letter had said.  _ Maybe if you actually obey for once, I won't have to tell Sam where to find it.  _ The letter had said. 

_  With love.  _

__

__ Steve couldn’t do this. He couldn’t go out like this, not without a fight. He used to fight. He used to fight. 

 He snuck out of the bedroom, keeping an eye out, but everyone was gone. He looked around, eyes catching on the item immediately, and  _ oh yes.  _ That would do just fine.

 He picked up the arc-reactor, noticing for the first time the straps that hung around it. They were intended for securing the device to a table, surely, but they worked just as well around Steve’s chest, tying the device in place over his heart. The machine was shaped like a triangle and flat, only raising a little ways off his skin. 

 This was his security, he reminded himself. He would take it because this was his future. No matter what happened, Shuri  _ needed  _ the arc-reactor back for tomorrow. He owed that to her. He owed that to all of them. 

 He would come back. He would. 

 So, with the metal pressing lightly against his chest, he zipped up a jacket and left, right out the front door. He would come back. 

 He  _ had to. _   
  


__ —————————   
  


 The address was within walking distance, and by the time Steve got there, he felt nauseous. Any one of the cabins he stumbled upon could contain Bucky. Maybe someone else, too— Sam, or Valkyrie. Loki. Someone there to help Bucky, to make sure Steve was secured properly for his trip back to Heidrun. Because Bucky never said he was taking Steve back to Heidrun, but it was obvious, wasn’t it? 

 Steve thought back to everything he remembered from the night before. Bucky’d been in his full uniform, with his mask and goggles both in place. Really, that shouldn’t have been a surprise— Bucky had always hidden his identity when he felt threatened. He’d been doing so good, too, all the way up until the point where the slaves ran away, and he started feeling fear. That was the interesting thing about Bucky— he felt a full range of emotions. Fear. Anger.  _ Betrayal _ . 

 Steve was getting close to the address when he heard the noise, and his heart nearly jumped out of his throat. As the sound of branches snapping came closer, he prayed that it was just a bear, just a mountain lion. That, he could take. But not— not—

 Fenris came into view, and Steve was up a tree in a heartbeat, his hands scraped and his legs aching. He clung on for dear life as the hellhound barked, loud enough to scare the birds away. He barked again, and Steve dug his nails deeper into the tree trunk. He barked again, and Steve squeezed his eyes shut. 

 Then he stopped barking. 

 A fall from this height certainly wasn’t enough to kill, but Steve was willing to climb higher, try harder. The deathly silence that filled the night could only mean one thing, and… well…

 Steve looked down, feeling sick. At the base of the tree Bucky stood, peering up at Steve through his harsh, covered eyes. Fenris’s teeth were still bared, and he barked again, only to get scolded “Quiet,  _ rebenok.  _ Yes, you found him, good boy. Now shoo, go chase some squirrels.”

 Fenris growled one last time before sauntering off. Then those big, dangerous eyes were back on Steve, and Bucky snapped his fingers at the ground, a clear order. Steve clung onto the tree a little tighter. If he didn’t come down—

 “ _ Stevie, _ ” Bucky snapped. “Now.”

 Against his better judgement, Steve started shimmying down. When he got close to the bottom Bucky’s hand hovered over his hip, guiding, and Steve flinched, not expecting the closeness. Bucky could touch him, because he was here. Steve had drugged him, hit him over the head, abandoned him, and now Bucky was here, masked and dark, with the gun slung over his back. 

 When Steve’s feet finally hit the ground, Bucky tilted his head towards the house. “Come. Inside.”

 Had Bucky always been so big? He’d always seemed large, but now instead of a lion, he was like a bear. Why the fuck had Steve thought he might bring reinforcements? He didn’t need them. He never needed any help making Steve do exactly what he wanted. 

 They went inside, with Bucky closing the door behind Steve. They were in what seemed to be some sort of one-room log cabin. It had a roaring fireplace on one wall, a big bearskin rug, and a smallish couch. There were a few other features as well, but Steve couldn’t spare the time to focus on them because Bucky was moving across the room, poking the fireplace with a big stick so golden embers shot into the room, flying around him like a herd of fireflies. The fire illuminated his dark combat uniform, glinting off the black of his goggles. 

 Then Bucky was reaching around, unbuckling the goggles and mask and setting them on the mantle. All this time, Steve had assumed his expression would be fierce, angry, but he didn’t look like that at all. His lips were dry, his skin pale. He frowned at the fireplace, his eyes half-lidded. He didn’t look like a captor, didn’t look like a villain. He just looked  _ tired _ . 

 Bucky shucked off the outer pieces of his uniform, leaving him in just a black tank and his dark armored cargo pants. The shirt left his entire metal arm exposed— the metal arm that Steve spent hours tracing with his eyes, the metal arm that hugged and grasped and held. It was so purely  _ Bucky  _ that Steve wanted to cry. 

 Bucky sat on the bearskin rug facing the fireplace, his elbows on his knees. He didn’t say anything else to Steve, didn’t give him any directions, but Steve couldn’t help but go to him. He slipped down by his side, settling on the comfortable rug with a sigh.

 “I’m sorry,” Steve muttered. He didn’t look at him. 

 Bucky made a low noise at the back of his throat. “Me too.”

 The fire crackled, a piece of wood shifting within the flames. 

 “I was really scared when I woke up,” Bucky said softly. “I just… I had a migraine and I couldn’t get up and I was looking for you…” he shook his head. “And then I saw that you were gone, and I just… I panicked. I didn’t even realize you’d left on your own at first, I just thought…” he shook his head, then looked up at Steve with such an intense gaze Steve leaned away. “Are you okay? Just.. let me see, I need to know.”

 Steve’s ears were still ringing with the command when Bucky’s hands were on him. He jerked, but Bucky ignored it, hauling Steve into his lap. He ran his hands over Steve, feeling his body, pinching at his thighs. He brought his hands up to Steve’s chest, getting scarily close to touching the hidden arc reactor when his thumb brushed up against his nipple and he hissed. "You took the piercings out? Don't you remember how long it took them to heal?" 

 Steve carefully pushed his hands away. "I-- yeah, I did. Because I didn't want them anymore." 

 Bucky grunted and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him to his chest. Everyone had been so careful with Steve lately, trying to give him his space, letting him do what was needed, so to feel Bucky's arms on him like that, not even hesitating…

 Steve went limp, relaxing completely against Bucky's body. His vision started blurring, and before he knew it, he was crying. 

 "Hey, shh, shh," Bucky said, running a hand through Steve's hair. "I've got you. You're safe now. You're never going to want for anything, not if I can help it. I'm going to take such good care of you."

  The tears weren't slowing down. Steve was sitting on Bucky's lap, completely engulfed in his body and his words, being held like something perfect, something precious. He buried his head in Bucky's shirt, shaking it slowly. "Buck… I don't know." 

 "I  _ love  _ you," Bucky declared, not a question, not a passing thought. His words were concrete, resistant to wear or rot. "I  _ love  _ you. And I just want to keep you safe. And  _ happy." _

_  Happy.  _ Bucky wanted to… to keep him  _ happy.  _

__ Slowly, a new thought began to form. Maybe Steve wouldn't have to choose between one option and another, between his friends and Bucky. Maybe Bucky would be willing to stay on Earth. Maybe things could change, maybe…

 "You scared me, before," Steve whispered, his lips brushing the collar of Bucky's shirt. "There were times that I thought I'd never leave that farm." 

 "Baby, I don't care about the farm." As soon as Bucky said it, Steve felt a shiver go down his spine, and wondered idly if it was the arc-reactor over his heart setting off the sparks or if he really just loved Bucky that much. "We can move. Do you wanna move? We can do it. Whatever you want."  

 Steve closed his eyes, the tears flowing freely. Bucky really did care, really did love him. Steve had never felt like this towards anyone else-- in truth, he'd never wanted to leave Bucky. It was the life he was leaving, the confinement, but not… not Bucky. 

 And now, Bucky was presenting him with another option. They could run away together like fairytale characters. Bucky would stay here, maybe, or get a more permanent home. Steve could come and go as he pleased. He could see his friends. They could… hell, they could actually date. They could get married.  

 All things that could never happen on Heidrun. But they could happen now. 

 Bucky's strong hand fitted under Steve's chin, and he let himself be dragged upwards until their lips connected. It was like a house covered in Christmas lights getting plugged in for the first time, it was like the first spark of a fire. It was magic. 

 Bucky's lips were chapped against Steve's own, but he did his best to remedy that, licking and kissing them. He could be there for Bucky. They'd always been better together. Always. 

 "I love you," Steve whispered. 

 Bucky sniffled, pulling Steve even tighter to him. His fingers dug in his skin, like he just had to make sure this was real. 

 Finally, Bucky exhaled, pulled away. He brushed Steve's hair back, looking at him through lidded eyes. "Hold still for me?"

 Steve followed the command immediately, though he frowned. "Why? What is it?" 

 Bucky carefully pulled something out of one of his pockets, the black metal gleaming in the fire light. Steve caught one look of it before bolting off of Bucky's lap, throwing himself backwards in a blind panic. Bucky grabbed his ankle and slammed him on the ground, and in a moment he was pinned. "Stop that!" He growled. "I told you to hold still!" 

 "What the hell is that?" Steve squeaked, desperately trying to squirm out of the hold. Bucky lowered his full weight to rest on Steve's torso, his legs tensed tightly around him. He raised the object into the air, and Steve felt another wave of panic just seeing the collar again. "Bucky, stop! I don't want it!"

 Bucky frowned. "I'm sorry Stevie, but you know the rule. All slaves on Heidrun have to wear a collar." 

 "But I don't want to go back!" Steve spat. "This isn't-- this isn't what I meant! Get off of me, let me go!" 

 Bucky's gaze darkened. "No. You're my slave, or did you forget? I have the paperwork, I fucking  _ own you.  _ I thought you were going to be civil about this." 

 Steve yelled, lashing out and clawing at him, only getting one good swoop in before Bucky's hands were on his throat, slamming him into the ground. "Stop struggling!" 

 "Fuck you!" Steve screamed, kneeing Bucky hard in the crotch and wigging away. As soon as he was out, he was on his feet, still screaming. "Fuck! You! You miserable fucking asshole, I hate you! Touch me again and I swear to God--"

 Bucky lunged, grabbing blindly. His metal fingers brushed against the center of Steve's jacket, right over his heart. It was also over something else.

 Multiple things happened at once: the arc-reactor went off; Bucky flew backwards; a searing pain burned into Steve's skin; and Bucky's metal arm dissolved into light. 

 Steve covered his mouth with his hands, the smell of burning cloth from his jacket still wafting up. Bucky lay convulsing on the floor, the pain from the vaporized limp too much. Bucky's metal arm was his dominant one, and though he'd never told Steve the extent of it, Steve knew it had at least as much nerve endings as a normal arm-- if not more. 

 Bucky continued seizuring, his flesh arm flopping around helplessly, his face contorted in agony. He was in pain. He was… he was potentially dying.

 "Steve--" Bucky choked out, teeth gritted in pain. "Help!"

 Steve walked over to him gingerly. Then he stepped around him, grabbed the collar from the floor, and threw it into the fire. 

 Then he turned and ran.   
  


\----------------------------

 

 Steve ran like his life depended on it. Bucky may have been in pain, but he wasn’t dying, and before too long he’d be back on his feet. Steve had to get back to the cabin and let the others know they had to leave,  _ now.  _

__ When the cabin came into view, Steve saw Peter outside of it, his eyes going wide when he saw Steve. Peter took a few steps forward, about to say something, when Steve heard something behind him.  _ Fenris.  _

 “Peter, watch ou—”

 “Puppy!”

 Steve dove to the side, getting up just in time to see the massive hellhound tackle Peter, taking him down. Steve grabbed a rock off the ground, ready to do what was needed when—

 “Oh, hello! Hello baby, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it? You’re so big!”

 Steve let his arms drop, staring as Peter baby-talked the monster, letting Fenris kick his face like he was getting ready to eat him. “Peter, what the hell?”

 Peter narrowed his eyes, giving him a teasing look. “He’s just a  _ baby.  _ Barnes isn’t coming, right?”

 Steve felt a weight drop in his chest. It was a familiar pang that happened whenever someone mentioned Bucky, and it might stick around for a while. But it wouldn’t be forever. “Yeah. I… took care of him.”

 “I knew you would,” Peter said confidently, letting Fenris lick his ear passionately. “We were all worried, but… I believed in you.”

 Steve sighed, tossing the rock to the side. He tried avoiding Peter’s gaze for a few moments, but finally he gave in, looking. Peter was waiting. He wasn’t smiling, exactly, but there was something hopeful in his eyes. “Things will get better,” he promised. “You did the hardest part— you told him no. Now, it’s all uphill.” He leaned up, kissing all over Fenris’ snout before pushing him back so he could stand. 

 “I hope you don’t plan on keeping him.” Steve eyed the dog wearily. He was content now that he’d gotten to show his affection, but he still didn’t want anything to do with the mutt. 

 To his relief, Peter shook his head. “No. I’ll send him back to Barnes. He was never a bad  _ dog  _ owner.” He looked to Steve, like he was trying to decide if he should say something or not. “In fact, I think he only ever really knew how to take care of dogs.” 

 Steve snorted, even though it was painful. “Well. You’re not wrong.”

 Peter shifted between his feet, looking uncomfortable. Steve waited to see if he would explain what it was, but when he didn’t he said “Are you okay?”

He sighed, twiddling his fingers. “I just… we’re here, you know? But there are so many people still on Heidrun who we couldn’t save, and now their lives are worse because there’s been two slave escapes this year…” he hesitated. “I don’t know. I just want to do something about it.”

 “I do too,” Steve said, not having to hesitate for a moment. Of course he wanted slavery to end— but at the same time, they were still barely staying afloat. “But how? If we get too close we’ll just put ourselves in danger.”

 Peter shrugged. It still looked like he was hiding something. “Well, the U.S. government is trying to figure out why there have been so many kidnappings, especially as the demand for slaves has increased. So we can start with telling them what’s going on. Then, if there’s someone on the inside, someone living on Heidrun…” he stood a little straighter. “I’m not making sense, am I. Um. I think he should just tell you himself.”

 Then the backdoor was being pushed open, and Steve stepped inside to see Strange, sitting on the couch with baby Ori in his arms, the other slaves all flustered around him. He looked up at their entrance, not seeming particularly surprised. “Oh, good, you’re here.” He looked over to Peter, deferring to him. “Can I explain my plan now?”

 Peter nodded— giving the orders for the first time in years— and before Strange even opened his mouth, Steve knew he was going to say  _ yes. _

 

 

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed, this story is a part of a series! I will not be writing any full-length sequels, but I WILL be writing multiple oneshots, both in and out of canon, including:   
> \- a 10k prequel about Bucky, Sam, Peter and Quill (already completed, and will be published within a few days)  
> \- a 3-5 chapter fic of what could have happened if Clint had also been sold as a slave, and Bucky had bought him after having Steve for a few months   
> \- a EXPLICIT fic where Bucky bought Steve for the sole purpose of breeding him with Fenris (with some extreme pet play, as one would imagine)
> 
> I’ve also considered a few alternate endings, and some other fics in this universe I could write. If you have any ideas/requests, please comment them or message me at DansPHLevels on Tumblr!
> 
> In order to get updated when these stories are posted, please go to my profile and subscribe there. You can also bookmark the series. 
> 
>  
> 
> In this chapter:   
> \- Steve tried to decide what to do  
> \- Steve's panic attack at the dog shelter  
> \- Steve and Peter's interactions (in general)  
> \- Natasha (+Steve getting all choked up)  
> \- Climbing A Tree With Fenris   
> \- Steve x Bucky   
> \- The arc reactor   
> \- Fenris   
> \- Strange 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read this story! I absolutely loved writing this, and though I’m sad it’s ending, I’m really proud of myself for trying something outside my comfort zone, and clearly it all paid off. I will be writing more fics like this in the future. 
> 
> You can find me on ao3 at WhiteCeilings (my NSFW account) and at DumpsterDiving101, as well as on tumblr messaging at DansPHLevels! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it :)


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